


The Shield Dragon's Forge

by coolbreezemage



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blacksmithing, F/M, Fire Magic, M/M, Minor Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro, Minor Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Minor Mercedes von Martritz/Dedue Molinaro, Multi, Printing Presses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27769435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbreezemage/pseuds/coolbreezemage
Summary: As a Flamesmith, Felix crafts breathtaking weapons with the help of his fire spirit companion. He keeps to himself and doesn’t talk to many people other than his customers and his old friends at the Azure Lion tavern.Then he catches the interest of aspiring journalist Annette. But he’s not the only story she has her eye on. A dangerous criminal conspiracy is growing in the city’s streets, and it might just be the story she needs to save her failing paper.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a crossover/AU set in the world of my novel The Cloudship Trader. Basically what you need to know is that elemental spirits exist (Winds, Waves, Flames, Seeds, and Stars) and some of them interact with people. Partnerships with spirits let people ride flying ships, grow magically-enhanced crops, or craft incredible glass and metal items. 
> 
> There’s three human genders in this society, so I’ve decided my Byleth will be nonbinary/third when they show up. There’s also a range of non-human races who'll show up sometimes. I’ve kept most of the Fire Emblem characters as humans. 
> 
> I did come up with names for the characters that better fit the setting, but I decided it would be a bit too weird to use them on top of everything else. I figure people would probably prefer reading about Felix and Annette instead of Felis and Annen!

Felix drew the crucible from the forge, studied it, and grumbled in frustration. Not good enough. He shoved it back in against the coals and brushed at his face where his dark unruly hair was already sticking to his brow. 

“I need it hotter, do you hear?” he complained in the direction of the Flame spirit nesting at the heart of the forge. 

His only reply was a vague crackling and the rumbling of the fuel resettling. He wasn’t enough of a fool to think that the spirit actually understood his words, or that it would listen to any command not backed with a bribe. As every Flamesmith knew - or learned fast - the spirits had their own minds, and rarely listened to humans unless persuaded and coaxed into it. Over time, a smith could learn what their Flames liked. But even the most experienced of partners could have grumpy days. Felix had enough little burn scars down his arms from his spirit’s unhappy bites to know he couldn’t force anything with the spirit in a bad mood.

But it was so early in the morning, and he couldn’t afford to waste an entire day with this commission due so soon. So Felix stalked over to the worn case of Flamescript tokens and plucked one carved with the character for _more heat_. There were only a handful of tokens left in the compartment. He’d need to carve more soon. Very soon, if the spirit kept up with this stubbornness.

“This is your third today, I’m not giving you any more,” he told the fire as he tossed it in. “I’m sure you get the point by now. And you’re not getting any more fuel yet. There’s more than enough in there already.” 

No reply. But he hadn’t expected one. He shifted the crucible and waited.

He could hear his old master in his head, telling him how much easier it would be to run the Shield Dragon if he had an assistant. Someone to carve Flamescript tokens, haul fuel, mind the bellows. But his last attempt at finding one had been a disaster. The girl had been terrified of the Flame and not at all suited to the heat of the workshop. Last he’d heard she’d found a job cooking at his friend Dedue’s tavern in the western district, which sounded like a much better match for her. 

Felix hadn’t stopped by the tavern in nearly a moon. He usually went once a week or so, because the other regulars would fret about him and pester him to join them if he didn’t show up, but recently he’d had too much work and not enough patience to surround himself with noisy, cheerful people. Maybe he could go tonight, if the Flame cooperated enough for him to get a good amount of work done. 

He extracted the crucible again. Perfect. It was ready.

“Good work,” he muttered to the Flame, and threw in an approving token for good measure, even though the spirit didn’t deserve it after all the trouble it had taken to get this far. He couldn’t afford any delays on this project. 

The design he’d been given - on the most refined and expensive of parchment, of course - was utterly ridiculous. A three-pronged blade of shimmering steel edged in gold, all garish beauty and no substance. It was an absurd mess of interlocking curves, cutouts and filigree along the blades, jewels set into the pommel. It wouldn’t survive battle with even the stupidest and weakest of opponents.

But Gloucester was paying well for it, even supplying the materials on top of the agreed-upon price. Felix couldn’t refuse the money, or the chance to show off his skills. The pay alone had shunted this project to the top of his priorities. 

He didn’t have much time to perfect it. Captain Leonie was coming by next week to pick it up. He’d gotten the feeling when she’d delivered the plans that she agreed with him on how ludicrous the thing was, even for a decorative piece. It was good to find someone else of a practical mind in a city full of artists and traders always looking for the newest styles. 

He’d far rather be crafting swords and shields for the Guard or sharpening travelers’ daggers, banal as that sounded. At least those were useful. But he had to deliver what the client wanted. 

No time to waste. Felix poured the metal and set to work.

By the time the light from outside dimmed to the glow of an early spring evening and he realized he’d forgotten to eat a midday meal, Felix had gotten the basic shape of the blade completed and had even started the first bits of detail work on one of the prongs. He could spare the time to visit the tavern, he decided. He fed the Flame a token for _rest_ , covered the work-in-progress with a cloth, and swept the floor clean of ash and debris. Then he grabbed his coat from the hook by the door and headed out into the streets.

His home of Tilsa, the largest trading city in the patchwork of city-states and farming provinces that made up the centerlands of Arlana, stood proud within its walls against the green horizon. Cloudships perched near its gates, waiting for their fliers to return and take to the air on the backs of their Wind spirit companions. Countless people poured in and out those gates every day. And they weren’t all humans either. Though most of the population here in the continent’s plains was human, there were also horned and hooved Forish from the northern cities, cat-like Kejen from the mountains, even the occasional dragonfolk from across the sea or reclusive feather-winged Ruenwin. They’d somehow found a way to live together here, to trade and dine and chat without too much arguing despite vastly different bodies and cultures.

From a distance the city resembled a crown of stone, built of tall six-sided towers and spiraling terraces linked by a bustling network of tunnels and bridges, ramps and ladders. A person could live in the city for years, explore nearly every corner of its covered markets and blossoming rooftop gardens, and still never touch the ground once in all that time.

Space in Tilsa was measured by how many hexagonal sections of terrace or tower each dwelling took up. Felix’s workshop spanned two of these pavilions, and his sparse lodgings above fit neatly into one. He could probably afford more space, but what was the point of that? He didn’t need it. He lived alone, and he didn’t hoard useless possessions or entertain large groups of friends. 

Felix headed up the ramp to the roof of his shop. From there he crossed a bridge to a public walkway that traced the edge of a row of houses. Someone had taken it into their head to decorate the railings. Little folded-paper decorations hung from the rail for the length of three pavilions. Probably made by children’s clumsy hands, judging by how haphazard the craftsmanship was. 

He continued on. So far it was a warm enough evening for him to unbutton his coat. He passed a few merchants packing up their stalls for the night, and a few more just setting up. It was a little too early in the season for night markets, but it wasn’t his ass that would be freezing when night fell. He stepped to the side to avoid walking into a lamplighter lifting his pole to the lanterns hanging on hooks from the level above. 

His route carried him through an underpass lined with warehouses and around a wide tower before it brought him to the unassuming entrance to Dedue’s tavern, a heavy wooden door with patterns of flowers carved along the edge, their rich blue paint just beginning to flake off with age. 

The Azure Lion filled a warren of rooms snaking underneath a row of weavers’ shops and printing studios. It was famous across the district for its vast array of tea blends and for its spiced roasts prepared in the style of Dedue’s homeland beyond the northern mountains. Its warm lamp-lit corners overflowed with an assortment of carved wooden tables and deep plush couches and old worn armchairs. At any hour of the day, from opening time to late into the night, people could be found here chatting with friends over platters of treats or curled in a chair with a book and a teacup. Business deals were struck here, novels written, tired travelers refreshed. 

Felix wanted a good meal and a drink. He’d leave the chatter up to the others.

Dedue’s husband Ashe, a man seemingly made of pale hair and freckles and eager determination, called to Felix from behind the bar as he entered. “Oh, Felix! I’m so glad to see you, it’s been ages.” His green eyes glittered with enough delight that even Felix couldn’t grumble at the pointless pleasantries.

He gave him a wave in return. “Hey, Ashe. I suppose it’s been a while. I’ve been busy.”

“You’ll have to tell us what you’ve been up to! Hold on, I’ll get you a drink.”

“Something dark, I don’t like the sweet ones.” 

Last time he’d visited, he’d been convinced into trying the newest batch of Dedue’s homemade berry wine. The stuff had been like honey, heavy and sticky on his tongue. The rest of their company had adored it, but Felix was going to stick to the brews that didn’t taste like festival candy. 

“I think I’ve got something you’ll like, let me get it.” Ashe darted back into the kitchen just as Dedue emerged with a platter of food: some sort of fowl roasted crisp and golden and covered in a dark sauce. 

Felix could smell the peppers and herbs from the other side of the bar. His mouth watered. Unfortunately, the dish had already been spoken for. Dedue crossed the floor to deliver it to an eager blonde-haired guardswoman Felix knew well. Ingrid. They’d grown up close to each other in a neighboring province, and their parents had been good friends. They’d even considered, for a short time, a marriage between their families, but it hadn’t worked out.

He turned away quickly, hoping Ingrid wouldn’t notice him, but it was too late. She waved to him. 

“Hey, Felix! Where’ve you been?” 

He shrugged in her direction. They’d known each other long enough that she could usually recognize when he didn’t want to talk. Fortunately, her dinner was there to distract her before Felix had to respond. 

“Mmm, that looks amazing as always, Dedue.”

“Good evening, Felix,” Dedue said when he returned. He was a tall man, dark-skinned and pale-haired, and his quiet and stern demeanor hid many talents. “I must thank you for recommending Bernadetta to us. She’s done very well so far.”

“Good. I suppose a stove fits her better than the forge. Thanks, Ashe,” he added, when Ashe reappeared with a brimming mug to place in front of him. Felix sipped, found it bitter and strong and exactly to his liking.

Dedue shook his head, a brief, subtle motion. “She isn’t working in the kitchen. She helps me and Ashe in the garden. The Seeds have taken a liking to her.” 

“Oh. Well, I guess if she likes it, that’s good.” And lucky. Unlike Flames and Winds, Seed spirits didn’t have a language that let people speak to them though carvings. A farmer had to find them in their plot by chance, and hope that they liked them. If they did, the farmer could grow all manner of succulent crops or beautiful blossoms. Or if displeased, they could render a field barren for seasons.

“What did you want for dinner?” Ashe asked. “We’ve got some specials tonight. There’s- ”

Felix cut him off. “I’ll take whatever that was you just had. It smelled good.” 

Ashe grinned. “Right, I’ll get that started. That drink’s on the house, by the way.”

“Sure,” Felix grumbled. Anyone else would’ve taken the gift gladly, but Felix had never liked letting anyone do favors for him. He could support himself. But nothing could stop Ashe from being nice to you once he’d decided he wanted to. As long as you didn’t criticize his friends or the ridiculous stories they read. Felix had made that mistake once when they’d first met and it had taken weeks for the tavern’s owners to warm up to him again. 

Another customer came in, thankfully claiming Ashe’s attention. Felix picked up his drink and took it over to an empty table in the corner of the second room. There were a few others scattered around that he could see. A pair of Kejen chatting quietly over bowls of soup, triangular ears flicking as they talked. A lone human, a third-gender, working their way through two plates of dumplings and one of fried greens. Two women came in through the door, greeted Ashe, and settled on a couch. Nobody Felix knew, nobody he had to talk to. It was still early. He was sure that the place would be packed in a few hours’ time. 

To his chagrin, the peace didn’t last nearly that long. Moments after Ashe placed his dinner on the table, before he’d even managed more than two bites of rich meat or buttery potatoes, another familiar face came striding in through the doors, topped with fiery red hair and graced with an unbearable flirty smirk. To nobody’s surprise, he made a beeline for Ingrid’s table.

“Ingrid! Why the serious face? I thought you’d be enjoying yourself! Do you need me to buy you a drink?”

She didn’t even look up at him. “Can’t, I’m on duty in half a mark,” she said, with the patience that only someone very accustomed to Sylvain could muster. 

“Aww, but I’ll get cold tonight!” Sylvain moped. He dropped into a chair next to her and reached for the last bit of potato left on her plate. She batted his hand away and popped it in her mouth.

“Get an extra blanket,” she said around the morsel, unsympathetic. “I’ll be back in the morning and the Captain doesn’t need me for nights again until next week.”

“Just knowing she’s keeping you from me makes me want to fight her,” Sylvain said, lounging back in his chair with practiced ease.

Ingrid snorted. “You just try. Catherine’ll have you on your back in two seconds, I’d bet a week’s pay on it.”

He wiggled an eyebrow. “You wanna see?”

“If you’re the one who puts her up to it, sure,” Ingrid laughed. She waved Ashe over and handed back her plate with a satisfied sigh. She’d left it all but scoured clean. “That was incredible. I hope you keep it on the menu.”

“For you, of course we will!” Ashe laughed.

“I wish I could stay, but I’ve got a night shift. Where’s Mercedes? I wanted to buy some more of that soap she made...”

“Still at the hospital, I think,” Ashe told her. “She’s had a few late nights already this week. But I’ll tell her you asked after her!”

Mercedes, Dedue’s other partner, worked most days at the Iltari temple hospital, blending medicines and talking to patients. She might not worship the healer gods Akendi and Akari herself, but the hospital welcomed all needing healing and all willing to help provide it. 

“That’d be perfect, thanks.” Ingrid dropped a few coins on the table and headed out, ignoring Sylvain’s blatant attempts to get her attention. It was a sort of game between them, this irritating dance of teasing and half-insults. 

Once, there had been some venom behind it, but now, it was all in love, and nobody was quite sure when that change had happened. Or something like that. Sylvain got away with his antics only by virtue of being rich enough to pay for any damage and being frivolous enough that the Guard saw no reason to bother with him. Well, all of the Guard except for the one he was romantically involved with, at least. 

But now that Ingrid was gone, Sylvain was free to hunt down the rest of his friends. Which meant Felix was next.

“Felix! You’re here early.”

“Maybe I am. What do you want?”

“I just wanna talk. You’re almost as crabby as your Flame. Hard day? I can get you something nice if you want. Hey, Ashe-” he called out. Felix cut him off.

“I already have a meal.” Felix proved it by putting another bite in his mouth. “And I’m almost certain I’ve gotten more done today than you have.”

“Ouch, that’s harsh. What about-” Sylvain was interrupted again, this time by the door.

“Mercedes!” Ashe called. “Welcome home.”

Mercedes stepped inside, already shedding her long coat and healer’s robe. She pulled off her hat, too, and shook her sandy hair out of its knot. Even Felix could tell she was very tired, but still smiling.

“Hello, everyone! I brought a friend!”

Felix’s first impression of the young woman who entered behind Mercedes was one of gently curling waves of bright hair and wide, delighted blue eyes. Her long, simple cream dress was decorated with much less practical bows in green and blue, and she had a reddish shawl thrown over it for warmth.

“Hello! I’m Annette. Mercie’s told me so much about this place. I’m so glad I can finally come visit!” 

“She has told us about you as well,” Dedue said with a rare smile. “You’re welcome to sit anywhere. I’ll have Ashe bring some food and drinks out in a few minutes.”

“That’ll be lovely.” Mercedes leaned over the bar to kiss Dedue, then gathered Ashe into a tight hug. “Come on, Annie, I’ll show you the best spot.” She led Annette over to a huddle of armchairs and spindly tables off in one lamp-lit corner near the hearth. 

Sylvain sauntered over. “Hey there,” he said. “It’s nice to see a new lady here. You should tell us about yourself.”

Felix rolled his eyes. Of course Sylvain wouldn’t really try anything with a different partner if Ingrid wasn’t into it, but it wouldn’t stop him from flirting.

Annette, to Felix’s surprise, had come prepared. She stared Sylvain down with a legendary glare. “Mercie warned me about you.” 

Mercedes laughed behind her hand. And then Annette smiled. “You like plays, right?”

Sylvain blinked. It looked like he’d finally met someone who wasn’t going to let him lead every conversation. Felix had to hold back a laugh.

“Uh, yeah!” Sylvain smiled, for real this time. “Did you see that one last month in the southern district, about the sailors and the vanishing island?”

Annette clasped her hands together. “Yes! It was so tragic!”

“I know! I thought about it all night. Trying to figure out if there was some way they could have escaped. But I suppose the tragedy’s in the fact that none of them trusted each other enough to try.” 

Annette dropped onto the couch to continue the conversation. Felix went back to his food. Or he tried. He should have known Sylvain wouldn’t let him.

“Come over here, Felix,” he called. “Come meet our new friend.”

He didn’t appreciate being called like a dog, but he supposed he might as well go, especially if it’d shut Sylvain up for a bit. So he took his plate and mug and joined the others. Annette and Mercedes shifted over to make room for him. Mercedes was retelling some story from her day.

“...then this poor boy came in after he’d broken his stitches for the second time in a week,” she said. “Manuela nearly bit his head off. But that’s what you get for being careless. And then one of the novices spilled a bottle of oil on a doctor’s notebook. They made her copy it all out again by hand. Oh my, she wasn’t happy at all.” Mercedes, on the other hand, seemed very amused. 

Ashe set down a tray of cups and two cloth-covered baskets. “I bet she wasn’t,” he said. “Here you go, berry wine and some cheese biscuits. We’ve got roast lamb tonight if you’re interested, or chili and peach glazed duck, or there’s a mushroom stew Dedue’s been working on, it’s very good. And all the usuals, of course.” 

“Any of those would be lovely,” Mercedes said, reaching for a biscuit. “Oh, Ashe, I’ve got a book you might like. I’ll bring it tomorrow. It’s a little scary, but I think you’ll enjoy it.” 

Mercedes and Sylvain gave Ashe their orders. Annette took a little longer. “Hmm, I don’t know what to choose,” she said. “I’ll guess I’ll take whatever’s easiest for you. I tried to work at an inn for a while and I know it’s tough.”

“Nonsense,” Mercedes told her. “You can have whatever you want. It’ll be my treat.” 

Annette lit up. It was enchanting to watch. “Oh, Mercie, you don’t have to! But if you are... the duck, then?” she said, peering at Felix’s half-finished plate. “But a little less chili. I’m not great with spicy stuff.”

“It’s good,” Felix said, reminding himself not to stare at her. That was how you got people roping you into boring conversations. 

“Of course! I’ll get that in. And I’ll see if Dedue can spare a moment to talk.” Ashe flitted off again. 

Annette turned back to Felix. “So you’re Felix? It’s nice to meet you. Mercedes says you’re a blacksmith and you make swords. That sounds amazing.” 

He nodded, grateful she was doing most of the introducing. “A Flamesmith, yes. My shop’s called the Shield Dragon. I specialize in weapons. But I can do a lot of other things too.”

“I’d love to visit one day!” They’d just met, did she really find him that interesting? “I work for the Eagle’s Eye news printer on South Ink Street. Right now I’m just doing accounting and some proofreading, but I’m trying to find some interesting stories to write about.” She smiled. “Maybe if I find enough good ones, they’ll let me have a column! And it might help you get some business too.”

“Journalism? That’s smart,” Sylvain interjected. “I’ll make sure to read your paper when you do.” 

“You can do it, Annie!” Mercedes cheered. Felix frowned. He didn’t like the idea of encouraging her towards something that was probably impossible. But then, something about this woman made him think she might be able to achieve it. 

“So I can write about you? It won’t take long!”

“Sure, if you’re that interested,” Felix said, still a little puzzled. He gave her his address, which she noted down in a little book she slipped into her pocket. “Just make sure it’s in the evening. I don’t usually like company while I’m working.”

“I understand!” 

The conversation shifted to something else, something about Annette’s boss’s cousins and an investigation Ingrid had mentioned to Sylvain. Felix tuned it out and finished his dish. Or tried to. Every time Annette spoke, he found himself listening, even if he didn’t know what she was talking about or why he should care. Strange. But he didn’t have much time to think about it, because Dedue brought out the rest of the food, all three dishes arrayed on his strong arms. Ashe came over with another round of drinks. 

Felix stayed longer than he’d planned to that night, listening to the others talk, putting in his opinion where he thought it worthwhile. Sometimes Dedue or Ashe came by for a few minutes when there was a lull in the service. Finally, when their plates were long empty and Felix suspected Annette was dozing off in her seat, Mercedes stood up.

“I think it’s about time to call it a night. Should I walk you home, Annie?”

“No, it’s all right!” Annette said, shrugging her coat back on. “I’m not too far from here. But thanks for bringing me, it was really nice!”

“You should come back soon!” Mercedes told her, to everyone’s agreement.

“I’d love to! When I have time. I want to see you all again.”

Sylvain smiled. “And you too, Felix,” he added. “We haven’t seen enough of you recently.”

“I’ll try to make some time,” Felix said. To his surprise, he meant it. He did want to see them again, and Annette. As he headed out into the chill night and followed the narrow streets home, he found he already missed her smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette visits Felix's forge and stays longer than planned.

Felix woke late the next morning to grey skies and an unhappy Flame. Against his better judgement, he fed the fire until the spirit within was nearly purring with contentment and then brewed himself a cup of strong tea and sat studying his ledger-books while he waited for the rain to clear. One of his upcoming projects required some specific salts he’d run out of last month and hadn’t been able to replenish yet. The merchants who sold them were only in Tilsa for a few days each season. They should have arrived yesterday, if their plans hadn’t been disrupted. 

When dark clouds rolled over the city and thunder echoed against the stones, Felix gave up any thoughts of stocking up, packed the ledgers away, and lit his lamps so he could start work. If everything went well, he could probably finish the first round of details on the middle prong of the trident today.

The flickering lamps set into the walls of Felix’s workshop were a special sort, purchased for an achingly expensive price from a fellow Flamesmith who worked with glass. The crafter’s Flame had blessed them with the ability to burn brightly for weeks on end with only a few drops of oil for fuel. They needed to be refreshed every so often by the original smith or another with the same talent, and after suffering several shattered messes and painful burns while trying to convince his own Flame to do the job, Felix had given in and paid the fee. 

He consoled himself with the thought that was worth it for a well-lit shop. He could work all through the night if he wanted. And he had, many times, when sleep wouldn’t come and he’d rather be making more use of his time than tossing and turning in bed, or when he lost track of time altogether when deep in a complex project. 

There was a small break in the rain in late afternoon. Felix used the chance to visit the market near the southern gate.

The weather hadn’t deterred the merchants in their business. Some of the food-sellers had set up in the shelter of an underpass. He picked up a few rounds of flatbread, some links of herbed sausage, a block of hard cheese, and a jar of pickled radishes, exchanging as few words and coins as he needed to. 

As he was finishing up, he saw a familiar head of purple hair waiting at a fruit stall a few paces away. It was Bernadetta, carrying a shopping basket with blue ribbons tied on the handle and wearing a raincoat that was almost certainly too big for her. 

He walked up next to her. “Dedue’s got you doing errands in the rain?”

She started, but relaxed a little when she recognized him. “No! Dedue’s really nice. Please don’t be mad at him! I’m on break and I came out here myself.”

“Sure. Why?” 

“I need more yarn. I’m knitting a shawl for Mercedes. Do you think she’d like fawn? Or rose? Or maybe amber...”

“Uh, rose might be good.” He really had no idea, but he’d probably seen Mercedes wearing pink before and it hadn’t looked terrible, so that was what he went for. He glanced at her basket, where he could see all three colors peeking out from under a bit of cloth.

“That’s good, thanks! That’s what I was thinking.” Then why had she asked him? 

“You came from the other direction, where the craft sellers are?” She nodded. “Did you see Raphael and Ignatz? They’re supposed to be here today.”

Bernadetta shook her head. “I don’t think so. But I might have missed them, so you should still look!” She hurried off, and Felix didn’t bother to call after her.

As it turned out, she’d been entirely correct the first time. There were sellers aplenty arrayed around the terrace at the end of the next street, hawking everything from glass beads to embroidery thread, but Raphael, Ignatz, and their unfolding cart loaded with pigments and minerals were nowhere to be seen. He’d have to try again tomorrow. 

By the time Felix got back to the Shield Dragon and packed the food away into the pantry upstairs, the rain had started up again. He stared at the ominous cloth-draped shape of his current project and sighed.

“Hello? Felix?”

Felix spun around. Annette from the Azure Lion stood by the workshop door, the hood thrown over her head doing very little to keep the rain out of her face. 

“I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” he said, stupidly. “Uh, you should come in.” He wasn’t thrilled at the idea but he couldn’t just let her stand out there in the wet. 

Annette hurried inside, dripping puddles on the stone floor. “I’m sorry! I can come back another day…”

“No, it’s fine. Might as well get it over with now. What do you need me to do?”

Annette straightened up - not that it did much, she wasn’t very tall - and pulled out her notebook. “I just want to watch you and take some notes! So just do what you’d normally be doing.”

That was easy enough to do, at least. Even while being watched. “All right then. Just make sure you stay out of the way. This can be dangerous.”

“I’ll be careful!” She took a few steps back and stumbled right into a rack of tools. Two sets of tongs clattered noisily to the floor. Annette winced. “Sorry!” She replaced them, somehow without knocking anything else over. 

Not a very auspicious start. Felix just hoped this wouldn’t turn into a disaster. 

What to do? He didn’t want to have to explain the mess that was the filigreed trident, so he reached for another of his current crop of orders. This one was a hunting dagger for Windsworn Petra, a cloudship flier from somewhere in the western islands. Fliers were forbidden from using money because of their oath to their spirits, but she’d promised him a hearty leg of meat in exchange, so he’d taken the offer. He’d liked what he’d seen of Petra. She was sensible, sharp-eyed, and she understood the use of weapons that more refined people shrank away from. She was planning on staying in Tilsa a few days more, and he’d agreed to have the blade ready for her when she departed. 

He took Annette through the process, step by step, from mixing the metal to casting to sharpening. She kept creeping forward, as if his work was the most fascinating thing in the world. It made him feel strangely unsettled, but not in a negative way. He only had to warn her back a few times before she got the message and stayed well away from the hot metal. 

Petra had given him the Windscript symbol for her spirit’s name so he could etch it into the blade. He’d save that for tomorrow. He’d told himself he wouldn’t spare a thought for Annette when  _ she _ was the one interrupting his routine, but he didn’t like the thought of her getting bored. He set the dagger aside, scrubbed his sweaty face with a cloth.

“What are you going to do now?” Annette asked

“I’ve got to clean out the forge. So I’ll need to move the Flame to the hearth for a while.”

He chose a tool from the rack, a shallow dish on the end of a long pole. With a practiced motion, he scooped up the spirit and a bit of fuel and pulled it from the coals, trailing ash and embers. 

“Get out of the way,” he warned. Annette pressed herself against the wall to let him pass and deposit it into the hearth. He threw in a log, and the spirit settled down to chew on it. 

“If this was a normal fire,” he told Annette, “it would take a day or two to cool down or come back to temperature, but the Flame can do it in a few hours.”

“That must save you a lot of time.” Annette scribbled a few lines in her notebook before stepping towards the hearth. “So this is a Flame?” she asked, leaning down to peer at it. “I’ve never seen one this close before. Does it have a name?”

“No.” What a strange question. Wind spirits had individual names, and some mer legends gave especially powerful Waves names, but Flames and Seeds didn’t have them. Or if they did, they certainly weren’t sharing them with mortals. 

“Aw, it should have one! Well, it’s beautiful even without it. Aren’t you, you little fiery creature?” She held out a hand, letting it float perilously close to the spitting embers.

It crackled louder, wafting heat into the air and reaching orange and red tongues of flame in her direction. 

Felix’s eyes widened. “Careful, it’ll-“

The Flame leapt forward. Annette yelped and grabbed her hand back.

“…bite you,” Felix finished, too late. He sighed. “Come here, I can treat that.” He had a box of bandages and salves on the back shelf for situations just like this.

“Ow…” she whimpered, putting her finger to her mouth. “That hurt! I thought it liked me!”

Felix handed her a damp cloth and pried the lid off a jar of ointment. “You just met, it’s not going to like you right away. And even if it does, that doesn’t mean it’s not going to nip you sometimes. Have you ever had a cat? It’s like that.”

Annette shook her head. “We couldn’t have cats in the house. After my papa left my mother supported us with embroidery and sewing. She didn’t want to risk fur getting on everything.” Felix hadn’t asked for her life story, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to tell her to stop talking. “I tried to make friends with our neighbors’ barn cats but they always ran away from me.”

Felix wasn’t surprised. Cats tended to like quiet people, not clumsy whirlwinds like Annette. 

He realized he was still standing there with the jar, doing nothing. “Give me your hand,” he insisted. 

Annette glared at him. “How can I trust you? You let that thing burn me.”

“You’re the one who tried to touch it.” He groaned. “Look, it’s just a salve. It’ll help with the pain.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but held out her hand to let him rub the ointment into her reddened fingers. Such small hands.

Enough of this. He had to focus. He finished with the ointment and let go of her hand, and refused to think about why it felt so hard to do that.

“There. Is that better?”

She smiled up at him, and he couldn’t look away. “Yes. Thank you. I’m sorry for being so clumsy. Again.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She needed to work on that, and fast, if she was going to be hanging around anywhere near his forge, but he didn’t want to talk about it any more, so he might as well try to put her mind at ease.

Annette held up her fingers in front of her face and sniffed. “Did Mercedes make that?” she asked, nodding towards the jar Felix was putting away.

“How did you know?” He’d almost forgotten that himself. Mercedes had given it to him ages ago one night at the Azure Lion after noticing his Flame scars. Despite his aversion to gifts, he had to admit it was very useful. 

Annette smiled. “It smells just like the lotions she makes! They’re amazing for your skin.”

“That’s, er, good to know,” he said. 

Annette giggled at his confused reaction. “You should try them.” She reached out and caught his hand, ran her fingers over the calluses and little burns he’d earned from years at the forge. His heart sped, and he pulled his hand away. 

“Maybe I will.” He had to do something else so they weren’t just standing there. “Do you want some tea?” 

“Yes please!”

Felix hung the battered copper teapot on the hearth. It was a gift from the smith who’d taught him the craft. They’d had a talent for pots and vases and lidded boxes, all shimmering with color where their Flame had touched them. 

Felix’s Flame reached up to embrace the pot. He wondered, not for the first time, if it sensed the work of another spirit in the thing. 

Annette approached the Flame again, this time keeping her hands well out of its reach. “It’s all right, little creature, I forgive you for burning me!” 

“It’s not going to understand you,” Felix reminded her.

“Maybe, but it’s worth a try, right?” 

“They’re not like mortals. Maybe it finds small talk offensive.” Felix certainly did. But somehow, he was still talking to her. 

“Hmmm, no, I think it looks happy,” Annette decided. “Are you happy?” she asked in the Flame’s direction.

“It likes being in the hearth,” Felix admitted. “What sort of tea do you want?” He had a few tins of his favorites on a shelf above the hearth, and there were some blends he didn’t like as much but had gotten as gifts gathering dust above that.

“Do you have something sweet? I really like apple tea.”

“Don’t think so. What about almond?” That was one he could tolerate, at least.

“Yes! I like that one too.” 

There was just enough left in the tin for two cups’ worth. Felix spooned it into the teapot, making a mental note to buy more the next time he had a chance. And maybe a fruit blend too. He had a feeling this wasn’t the only time he’d have Annette in his workshop. 

Annette asked a few more questions as the tea steeped. They were good questions too. She’d grasped the basics of the craft, which meant he didn’t have to waste time explaining the basics over and over again. He realized this was probably the most he’d talked in weeks.

When the tea was ready, he poured it into two chipped cups and passed one to Annette. She buried her nose in the steam and sighed. “It smells nice.”

Felix set his own down at his worktable and reached for the box of token blanks and his knife. By now he knew the characters well enough to carve most of the common ones without needing to trace them out in pencil first, which made things a little faster, but the task was still a chore. 

Annette studied the tray. Some of the little compartments were labeled, but most had smudged over time and Felix saw no reason to rewrite them when he knew which symbol was which without needing a reference. 

“So if  _ this _ one means increase heat,” Annette began, “and  _ this _ one means decrease…” She pointed to a third compartment. “Does this one mean maintain heat?” 

Felix glanced over. “Yes. Huh. Lucky guess.” 

Annette bounced on her heels. “I was right! There’s a pattern to them. It’s hard to explain.” 

“Sure.” He’d worked with the signs for years, so they were second nature to him by now, but it had taken months for him to learn them. And most people were utterly clueless about spiritscript. He’d once seen a play about a Flamesmith. The details had been laughably wrong. He would’ve walked out if it hadn’t been Dorothea who’d invited him. 

“What about this?” Annette held up a token marked with a squarish design. “Something about force? Or... weight?”

Felix shook his head. “Not exactly. That one’s for putting rigidity into the material. And the one on the right is for malleability. Look, I don’t have time to explain them all.”

He’d thought that might be the end of her questions. It wasn’t. “What if I helped you make more?” 

“What?” That made him pause.

“I can carve more tokens while you’re, uh, smithing. Make the most of our talents.”

He narrowed his eyes. “ _ Are _ you talented at carving?”

She giggled. “I’ve tried it a few times! My dad used to carve little dolls, and I wanted to feel closer to him…” Her smile dimmed, putting Felix in mind, ridiculously, of a lonely or sad Flame. Then she brightened. “And even if I don’t get it right the first time, I can practice!”

She was so determined. Felix didn’t have the heart to refuse her. He sighed and set the knife down so he could fish a charcoal pencil out of the desk. Annette looked up at him when he pressed it into her hand, as if she hadn’t really expected him to agree. 

“Be careful with the knife. I don’t have an unlimited supply of bandages. The wood’s cheap, though, so it’s not the end of the world if you ruin a few. But you don’t need to keep going if you can’t get it.”

“Thank you! I won’t disappoint you.” She hopped up on the chair and picked up the knife. Felix pointed out the specific characters he was running low on before he picked up the broom to start brushing up the ash from the floor.

And then he heard it. Annette was humming as she carved, muttering snippets of song here and there, matching it to the rhythm of the knife on the wood. 

“ _ Little Flame, your sparks so bright, bless my dark home with some light… I carve and carve to talk to you, you’re so warm and sweet and true...” _

It should have been annoying. Felix should have asked her to stop. But he couldn’t. He dragged himself back to the work while the melodies seared themselves into his head.

By the time the teapot was empty, Annette had amassed a big pile of ruined blanks - and four or five that were neat enough to be passable. Maybe this wasn’t such a terrible idea after all. 

Felix looked them over as he gathered up the teacups. “Hm. Good work.”

Annette smiled. “Thanks! I hope it helps you.”

“It will. Do you have enough material for your column now?”

“For what?” Had she forgotten what she came here for? “Oh! Yes, I think I do! Thank you so much.” She laughed. “It’s not a column yet, but if I write something, maybe I can get it published somewhere in the back pages. It depends what Seteth thinks. He’s the chief editor. But I think he’ll like it. He likes printing educational things way more than gossip and advertisements.”

“I’d agree with that,” Felix said.

“Our paper doesn’t sell very well yet. But I think it’ll catch on soon. We only publish twice a month, so we put a lot of effort into making everything organized and readable, you know? Most papers are so cluttered and half the stories are trash...”

Felix snorted. “So you’re going for quality over quantity? I like that.” 

“I know! I think when people give us a chance, they’ll decide they really like it.”

“Hm. I wish you luck.” Their hard work was more important, but it seemed only natural to say it.

“I’ll bring you a copy next time we meet! Or I can leave it with Mercie at the Azure Lion.”

“I’ll look through it.” Felix promised. 

Annette gave a little cheer. Then her eyes widened. “Oh no, how late is it? I need to get home and make dinner!” She jumped up and grabbed her coat. “It’s been really great seeing you!

Felix glanced toward the window and the rain beating against the warped glass and shook his head. “It’s pouring out. How far away are you?”

“Oh, I’m on Crusher Street, it’s a bit northwest of here, up two levels and around a really pretty park.”

“That’s a long way. I’m not sending you out in this weather. You can eat dinner with me and leave when you’re not going to wash away before you reach the next district. I mean-” he hesitated. “If you want to. I won’t make you.”

“Of course I want to!” She put her coat back on the hook. “Thanks!” 

“Let me get some things.” He was suddenly very grateful he’d gone shopping. Otherwise he’d be trying to sustain her on oatmeal and onions. 

Felix gathered up the ingredients and a pan and came back downstairs. He shaved long pieces from the peppery sausage with his belt knife and fried them up with some greens and garlic. Very simple, with no artistry to it, just something thrown together out of need. Ashe and Dedue would probably wince to see it. But it was food, and they were hungry. Annette watched intently as he worked. Was she focusing on him, or the Flame? He wasn’t sure. For a moment he worried the Flame might flare up and burn the food, but to his relief it cooperated and let him cook. He pulled the mixture off the fire and piled it onto two rounds of flatbread. 

“Here. I’m sorry it’s nothing fancy.” Maybe he should have put some herbs on top for flair, but he’d missed his chance. It didn’t matter. 

“That’s all right! It smells delicious.” Annette folded her piece into a tight wrap and took a big bite. “Mmm, I like it.”

“That’s good.”

She finished her meal with astounding speed and sighed in contentment, shifting closer to the fire’s warmth. 

“The rain’s let up. I guess I should go now.” She smiled at him. “I’ll let you know when I’ve finished my story about the Shield Dragon! I have so much to write about…”

He still didn’t know why  _ he _ was more interesting a subject than any of the other people or events in this vast city, but he wasn’t going to question it now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: the newspaper, Hilda, Dorothea, and Caspar, and a visit from a very special dragon girl!
> 
> Current pairings:  
> Felix/Annette  
> Mercedes/Dedue/Ashe   
> Sylvain/Ingrid
> 
> Check out my Discord server! https://discord.gg/CdXGmY5   
> There's also a popular Felannie one, ask in comments.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette's day: print shop bickering, dragon gossip, lunch with Mercedes, and a visit to a certain smith...

“Annette!” Dorothea hollered across the Eagle’s Eye printing studio, her practiced singer’s voice cutting through the thud of the press and the apprentices’ chatter. 

Annette hurried out of her little alcove-turned-office with her ledgers bundled in her arms, nearly tripping over a crack in the floor as she went. “I’m here!” she squeaked. The Forish woman folding the copies as they came off the press gave her a disapproving look, one that Annette could read even on her long furry muzzle. “Sorry,” Annette added. 

“Watch your feet, we don’t need you tumbling into the press,” Dorothea warned. Then back to business. “We’re short a barrel of ink. What’s our stock looking like?” 

When night fell, Dorothea was the star performer at the Northwinds Opera House, bringing audiences to tears show after show. But when she was in the studio, she wore her waves of rich brown hair wrapped up in a bun on top of her head with a pen stuck through the middle. Somehow, she still managed to be the height of fashion even with ink stains on her blouse. Being tall had its benefits, Annette thought, mourning her own limited reach. 

Annette checked her ledger. “Ink, ink… We should have four spares in the first storage cabinet. And two in the third. There’s another shipment coming in next week.”

“Well, they’re not going to do us any good in the cabinet. Hilda, can you get one on the floor?”

Hilda, who’d been leaning against the wall with her tongue stuck between her teeth in focus, sketching on a scrap of paper, looked up and groaned. “Those things are so heavy!” she complained, long tails of black-ribboned pink hair bouncing. “I might fall over and get hurt. And I’m in the middle of an illustration. I can’t interrupt my inspiration.”

It was clearly untrue. Her muscled arms were more than enough to let her work the press and carry heavy crates of paper across the floor with ease. But there was no getting Hilda to do a job when she didn’t want to. Especially not when Dorothea was ordering it. The two of them had been a couple until a few months ago, and since they’d split up Hilda had made it her mission to frustrate Dorothea as much as possible without risking Seteth’s ire or the paper’s integrity.

Fortunately, Dorothea wasn’t falling for it today. “Fine.” She looked to the man working the press, a short-ish fellow with spiky blue hair and his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. “Caspar! Can you-”

Caspar leapt up before she’d even finished. “Don’t worry! I’m on it! Hilda, can you take the press while I get that?” 

Hilda gave a heavy sigh. “Fine, fine, but you owe me.” She pushed her notebook into Annette’s hands, tied up her hair, and strode forward to take Caspar’s place at the press’s mighty handle. Caspar dashed down the hall towards the storage cabinets, barely avoiding bowling over Annette, who jumped out of the way at the last moment.

“He’s so helpful,” Hilda said, smiling after him, no shortage of smugness there. “And strong. I watched his wrestling match last night at the Forest Plaza. They set him up against this guy who must have been twice his size. You could tell everyone in the crowd thought it was going to be a total beatdown. But then Caspar went for his legs, and it was like-”

“Keep printing, Hilda,” Dorothea interrupted. 

Hilda stuck her tongue out. “Hey, if you’re going to make me work, you might as well let me talk too!” 

“Then you should try talking about something more interesting.”

Hilda scowled. “Hey, this is very interesting!”

Annette watched them unhappily. She fidgeted with her collar, tucked her hair behind her ear. “Can you two stop arguing? If we don’t get this done, we’ll have to stay late.”

Dorothea shook her head, emerald earrings catching the light. “I can’t stay tonight.”

“Chasing after that flier again?” Hilda prodded. “Mmm, she’s not going to stick around, you know. Who knows what pretty girl she’ll find in the next place she lands…” 

Dorothea snorted. “Unlike you, I don’t need to  _ chase _ my lovers. Petra came to my show. She was so enchanted by my performance that she asked to see me after…”

Hilda grumbled and rolled her eyes, “I knoooow,” she whined, “you’ve told us this story already.” 

Annette saw a chance to interject and possibly bring the teasing to an end. “It’s a good story!”

“See? Annette agrees with me,” Dorothea said. Annette winced. That had just made it worse. “It doesn’t sound like you’ve got anything better to tell, Hilda. Anyway, I have rehearsal in an hour and I can’t be late again.”

“But you’re the star!” Annette protested. “They’d let you do anything.” 

Dorothea sniffed. “You would have thought. But no, I need to be on my best behavior. Or they’ll find some way to demote me to a minor role next season.”

Hilda gasped theatrically. “No! They wouldn’t!”

“Maybe not. I am the best they have, after all. But I’m not going to risk it.”

“Oh, that would be so terrible if you had to be anything less than top billing,” Hilda said, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Annette shook her head. She wasn’t going to get through to them. She’d be lucky if Hilda wasn’t mad at her now.

“Well, if you don’t need me, I’m going to get back to the accounts,” she said. If either of them heard her, they made no sign of it. 

Back in the office, she dropped into her chair with a groan. She glared at the stacks of papers and slates on her desk with more resentment than they deserved. Accounting was a never-ending job. Running a newspaper, even one as small as the Eagle’s Eye, had more expenses and supplies and schedules and things than she’d ever expected. She was good with numbers, at least - all those mathematics classes her mother had insisted on were finally coming in handy - but it didn’t make the job more fun or less work. 

It’d been nearly a week since her visit to the Shield Dragon, and she hadn’t had any time at all to work on her story. She couldn’t stop thinking about the forge. True to its name, it was like a dragon’s cave, dark and smoky and full of treasures. And a Flame! A mysterious elemental spirit, right there in front of her. How many times had she gazed at the shimmering, prismatic Flame-forged jewelry on crafters’ stalls and wished she could afford it? And the blades and shields Felix made were fit for ancient knights and god-heroes. 

And then there was Felix himself. He was grumpy and blunt and… pointy, and she knew that was an utterly paradoxical image, but that was what exactly he was like. But something about him kept her interested. He was so impressive. She wanted to impress him in turn. There had to be something she could do... 

She heard Caspar thumping back down the hall with the ink. She could think about her column later. After this print run was done. She chewed on the end of her pen as she worked through a particularly tricky calculation.

“Annette?” 

There was someone standing by her alcove. She glanced up, pen still in her mouth. “Hello?”

Flayn swept into the little room, holding up a tray. “I come bearing tea and sweets!” she proclaimed. 

Flayn and her father Seteth were dragonfolk, a race rarely seen in human-dominated Arlana. Fine, smooth, grey-green scales covered her body from the top of her head to the tip of her tail and down her clawed fingers, and her cute pointed snout led back to a ridge of bone and two elegant pale horns curving back from her head. And the jewelry on her horns! Annette couldn’t fail to be impressed every time she saw it. Long, curling chains of jade and gold spiraled from the tips of her horns all down her neck, draping over her shoulders and catching the light as she moved. Today Flayn wore a pleated black robe with the edge embroidered in a dense forest of curling silver vines and blossoming golden flowers. In concession to human Naming customs, she also wore a string of diamond-shaped blue beads around her neck, the color signifying her gender. Her father wore a similar one in man’s red. Annette had never met any third-gender dragons, but she guessed they’d wear green, like humans did. 

Annette put the pen down and hastily cleared a space on the desk for the tea tray. “Hey, Flayn, it’s good to see you. The others are arguing again…”

Flayn shook her head, utterly somber. “It is a display of most undignified behavior,” she agreed. “Father would not approve.” Then she giggled. “But I have to admit it is rather amusing.” 

“Sometimes, maybe,” Annette admitted. “But I’d really rather get everything done on time.”

“I understand. It is terrible to waste time when there is so much to do!” Including, so it seemed, drinking tea and eating a plate of buttery cookies filled with jam and dusted with sugar. Well, Annette wasn’t going to complain.

Annette brought a teacup to her lips. “This smells wonderful!”

“It is a blend made with candied fruit from the south. Auntie Rhea gave me some and I wanted to share it.”

“It’s delicious. Mmm, and you put honey in it! Thanks, I love that.” It was so good to have a friend who shared her tastes and wouldn’t look at her funny when she spooned an almost excessive amount of sugar into her cup. It wasn’t excessive if it tasted good, she always argued. “What did you want to talk about? Is Seteth happy with my work so far?” Anxiety jolted through her throat. If she’d messed something up, disappointed somebody or ruined something and she hadn’t even noticed… “Is something wrong?”

Flayn shook her head, jade curls jangling. “Oh no, no, nothing is wrong!” she reassured Annette through a mouthful of cookie. Annette made herself breathe. “He says you are doing a fine job-” she cleared her throat and affected Seteth’s deeper voice for the next part- “ _ if a little disorganized at times.” _

“I’ll try and do better!” Annette promised.

“Good! He has always said everybody is capable of improvement, even the most skilled of people.”

“Wait, if you’re not here about that, then-”

Flayn grinned, showing sharp dragon fangs. “I have heard whispers of an exciting story!”

“Ooh?” Annette reached for a cookie. “What is it?”

Flayn leaned in close. “There is  _ wrongdoing _ afoot! Smugglers! Sneaking into Tilsa under cover of night with their ill-gotten gains!” She seemed positively delighted at the idea.

Annette’s head filled with images of black-cloaked thieves grappling their way up the city walls, creeping from tower to tower with sacks of stolen gold and jewels at their belts. She knew the reality was probably a lot more mundane than that, but it was still fun to think about.

“Ooh, that’s exciting! Where did you hear that?”

Flayn’s eyes glittered. “I will tell you, if you promise you will not tell my father!”

“I won’t!” Annette promised.

Another giggle, another grin. “I snuck out of my bed last night! I climbed out my window and made my way undetected down the streets to the Forest Plaza to watch a wrestling match!”

“The one Caspar was competing in?” Even for Annette, it was hard to imagine that a dragon could go undetected, even at a rowdy sporting event, but maybe there’d just been nobody else there who knew Seteth or was willing to tell him of his daughter’s adventure. 

“Yes, that very one. It was a magnificent sight. So many strong people showing off their talents in controlled combat!” Her tail flicked against the floor. “I witnessed match after match, heard the cheers and jeers of the crowd as one competitor at last emerged triumphant-”

“Everyone, may I have your attention?” Seteth’s voice. The chatter and the clank of the press slowed.

Annette stood up. “We should go see what he wants. But I want to hear the rest of the story later!”

“I suppose we must,” Flayn sighed. The two of them headed out onto the floor to see what their Chief Editor wanted.

In contrast to Flayn’s elaborate jade headdress, Seteth wore only a gold circlet on his head and thin silver rings on his horns. His scales were a richer, bluer color than Flayn’s, his robe simpler but with a fine cape over his back, night-sky-dark lined with cream. 

He glanced at Annette and Flayn as they emerged. “Flayn, what are you doing here? You should be studying your lessons.”

“Yes, Father,” Flayn sighed. She strode off down the hall and out of sight. Annette felt bad for her. There was so much in the world she wanted to explore, but Seteth would barely let her out of his sight. 

“Now then,” Seteth began. “We are still somewhat behind schedule in production, but we are making worthy progress towards catching up.”

Caspar pumped his fist. “Good work, everyone!”

“ _ However, _ ” Seteth continued, raising his voice just a fraction, “we are still facing difficulties in growing our readership. There will be little use for increased print runs if there is nobody to read the paper.”

Annette had seen the numbers. They weren’t dire, not yet at least, but they were frustratingly stagnant. The paper was barely making enough income to keep running. If any large expenses came up, if the press broke or their suppliers raised their prices, they’d be in trouble fast. 

Seteth had a few more announcements, but nothing especially important. Which was a little unusual, given that he rarely interrupted the printing team at their work unless he had a good reason for it. Maybe their situation was worse than she thought. 

Annette called after Seteth as he left.

“Hm?” He turned around.

“I was thinking I’d like to write an article,” Annette said. “If there’s room, I mean! It’s about the Flamesmith at the Shield Dragon.”

Seteth nodded. “That could be of interest. If you give me a draft, I can take a look, but I can’t promise anything. And be sure it does not take time away from your work.”

Now that was perfect. Annette glowed with relief and excitement. “Of course! Thank you so much.”

Maybe she’d start writing it when she got home if she wasn’t too tired. And then there was that lead about the smugglers. It was nearly the end of the day before she managed to get the rest of that story from Flayn. She’d overheard a group of people at the wrestling match gossipping about Caspar’s opponent and his friends. Disreputable sorts who made their money in gambling and taking deals to carry goods past the gates without paying the required taxes. But so far nobody had managed to pin any crimes on them. If only someone could catch them in the act, or find their lair… Now  _ that _ would make a very printworthy story, Annette thought. 

She was still thinking about it when she went to meet Mercedes outside the hospital later that day. She took two copies of the paper as she left. One for Mercie and one for Felix. 

Sometimes it was easy for Annette to get lost in a city as twisty and confusing as Tilsa. She might miss the entrance to an underpass and end up going in circles up and down around a tower until she figured out she wasn’t where she wanted to be, or she’d mix up east and west and go in completely the wrong direction. But she could always find her way to the hospital where Mercedes worked. Healers dedicated to the Iltari faith flew orange banners from their rooftops, making them easy for those in need to find their way to their doors. 

Mercedes was waiting for Annette outside those great carved stone doors. 

“Annie!” she called, waving. “Perfect timing! I just finished up.” 

Annette hurried the last few steps to let Mercie sweep her up in a hug. “I hope you had a good day. We were so busy at the studio, and we’re  _ still _ behind…” 

“Oh no! I’m sure you’ll figure it out in time. I’d say I had a good day today. I’m hungry. Shall we go see what the street cooks have? You can tell me all about the studio on the way.”

Annette explained the whole situation as they went, leaving off the bit about the smugglers for now. Mercedes hummed and nodded as she listened. Annette knew she wasn’t going to offer any advice until she’d heard the whole story. The two headed up a ramp and over a bridge to a plaza with a fountain in the middle. Half a dozen carts were arranged around the edge, selling all sorts of delicious-smelling things. Annette walked almost all the way around the circle before she made up her mind. She passed by a woman selling paper cones of noodles drenched in some sort of dark sauce and then another cooking thin crepes on a little round stove and filling them with shreds of meat and pickled radish. Finally she settled on a cup of rich broth and a round of cheese-stuffed bread from a cart managed by a tawny-furred Kejan man. Mercedes chose a rice and vegetable bowl from the next stall over, and the two of them sat by the fountain to eat. 

Annette spread out a copy of the Eagle’s Eye on her lap, trying and failing to keep crumbs of it.

“...and there’s one of Seteth’s animal stories in there on page three,” she said through a mouthful of cheese. “Hilda illustrated it. She’s really good. And you can actually see it this time because the new person we got in to carve the plates is so much better than the old one. His name’s Cyril. He doesn’t talk much, but his work is really good.”

She knew because she’d tried to chat to him once and he’d told her off for bothering him in the middle of a delicate carving. Well, if that was what he wanted, she could do that. At least Flayn and Mercedes liked to talk. And Hilda, but with Hilda it was more often a transparent attempt to avoid work rather than make it more enjoyable. 

“I’m just worried about the paper,” she said. “I think it’s a really good project, and I like everyone at the studio and the writing team, even when they’re arguing.” She kicked her heel against the stone. “Seteth’s working so hard. I want him to succeed.” Annette sighed and looked up at Mercedes, almost pleading. “What should we do, Mercie?”

Mercedes hummed. “Let me think about that for a bit. I’m sure there’s something you can do. So your problem is that you don’t have a lot of readers?”

“Mmhm.” Annette chewed on her bread. “We’re selling about the same number every issue. But it’s not enough...”

“So you’ve got a good number of loyal readers, that’s lovely! But you need more.” Mercedes tilted her head. “Does the paper have a specific focus or theme? What’s special about it that will make people interested in reading it?”

Annette frowned. “What? People will want to read it because it’s really good! Everything’s very high quality, and the stories are all accurate and well-written, and there’s illustrations too.”

“I know, Annie, I’m not disagreeing with that. I’m just thinking… well, you write a lot about events around the city and the stories behind them. But what about the smaller festivals people don’t know about? Like the graduation traditions at the School of Scribes, or the Sailors’ Pageant at the North Gate?” She smiled. Annette itched with curiosity, excitement. “And you could look for stories that are small now but might become bigger later. If you’re the first to write about them, that could be very exciting! People will start buying your paper so they can keep up with all those new things.”

Small, growing stories. Like a group of smugglers pawning off their hoard at wrestling matches… 

Annette jumped to her feet. “Thank you, Mercie! You’re such a big help. I’ll tell Seteth tomorrow.” 

After saying goodbye to Mercie, Annette made her way to the Shield Dragon to drop off the second paper. The sound of pounding metal rang out from the workshop. If she focused, she thought she could just barely hear the crackling of the Flame in the forge, but she might also have been imagining it.

She waited until there was a break in the hammering, and called out, “Felix!”

“What is it?” he shouted back. She heard footsteps as he came to the door. “Your order isn’t going to be ready until the date we-” He blinked as he recognized her, and his voice softened a little. “Annette. Uh, hello.”

There was ash smudged on his cheek and sweat in his hair. He had a rag draped over his shoulder, the tattered end stained with some sort of polish or wax. Annette wondered what he’d been working on. A knife for an adventurer? A shield for a guardsman? 

“I have a copy of the Eagle’s Eye!” Annette held it out for him to take. “But it doesn’t have your story in it because I haven’t finished it yet.” And she hadn’t technically gotten it approved yet either. But she’d have to write it first for that. “We’ve been really busy. I’m sorry…” 

“It’s fine. I wasn’t expecting you to have it right away. Focusing on work is a good thing.” He pulled off his thick gloves and flipped through a few pages, nodding in what Annette hoped was approval. “It looks good. How much is it?”

Annette shook her head. “It’s just one copy, silly, you don’t have to pay for it,” she laughed. “But if you want to buy the next edition, that’d be good!” Another regular reader was always good news. 

“No, it’s just that I, uh, I don’t really like gifts. And it’s more than a paper. You took all the time to come over here with it. That should be worth something.”

What sort of person didn’t like gifts? But if Felix really insisted on paying for it, well, Annette had an idea.

“Don’t worry! You can give me something in return later, and then we’ll be even.”

Felix nodded. “All right. I can do that. Just don’t expect anything big.”

Annette nodded. She was sure she’d be happy with anything he came up with. As long as it wasn’t some sort of trick. But he didn’t seem like the sort of person who’d do that, at least from what she’d seen of him. 

Felix tilted his head. He looked just like a cat when he did that. “So did you come here for another interview? You can’t just be here to deliver the paper.”

She hadn’t, but she wasn’t about to throw out the chance if he was offering. She couldn’t exactly write an article about the great Flamesmith Felix’s tea-brewing and cooking and healing abilities.

“Yes! I want to know more!” She fumbled her notebook out of her pocket. The edge caught on a button and the whole thing went flying. “Ack!”

Felix sighed and reached down to retrieve it. 

“Be careful with that,” he warned as he handed it back to her. 

She clutched it tightly and let him lead her inside the workshop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Petra!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing cloudship flier Petra and a lot of mystery...

Why had he invited her in? He wasn’t usually so forgiving to those who dared interrupt him. But Annette was here now and he couldn’t exactly turn her out. He left the newspaper - more of a pamphlet, really - on the table to read later. 

“You can, uh, make some tea if you want. There’s a barrel of drinking water there and the kettle’s above the hearth.” On second thought, that might be a bad idea. She’d probably burn herself again. Not to mention he didn’t like having other people touching his things when they didn’t know how to handle them properly. 

“Maybe in a bit! Can I watch you some more and take notes? I’ll ask if I have questions!”

He lifted his hammer. “Stay back, there might be sparks.” 

Annette scurried back and perched on his workbench chair. He spared enough of a glance to see her carefully push his diagrams and sketching board aside and spread out her notebook before bringing the hammer down on the metal with a great crash. Flame-strengthened steel was said to be one of the trickiest materials to work with. Felix liked the challenge. 

That odd feeling of ease came over him again. He rarely liked to be watched while he worked. He’d never been one of those smiths who set up in the public square and sell Flame-touched trinkets by dazzling passers-by with the sight of a spirit. As Sylvain could attest, interrupting Felix was a good way to get snapped at. 

Annette, though... he could tolerate her.

In the space between hammer strikes, Annette’s soft singing reached his ears. Somehow she’d turned the bone-shaking rhythm into music. He couldn’t let it continue, but he couldn’t stop either.

When he at last looked up, intending to reach for the case of Flamescript tokens, he found that Annette had gotten there first. She had a token blank pinned to the table with one hand and his carving chisel in the other. 

“What are you doing?”

She looked up, eyes wide. “I’m sorry! I just thought I could do something helpful while you’re hammering, because, you know, I can’t talk to you while you’re hammering…”

“Suit yourself. But ask me next time.” He took a closer look at what she’d carved and raised an eyebrow. “You chose the right character, at least. That’s the one I need.” 

He held out his hand. Annette, smiling, tossed the token towards him, forcing him to move to catch it.

“Oops,” she laughed.

Felix flung the token into the forge, bracing himself for complaint. The Flame, for some reason he couldn’t fathom, had a grudge against this particular command. Sometimes it took three or four tokens for Felix to get the point across, and he’d be lucky to get through it without getting bitten in the process. 

A moment later, the Flame roared to life, the tips of its fire glittering and ready. Exactly as Felix needed. 

“Huh. I guess it likes that,” he muttered to himself.

A sudden breeze swept through the workshop, clattering past the racks of tools in a swirl of living smoke. It roared past Felix’s ears, tangled in Annette’s hair until her head looked almost like a Flame. The tidy little pile of wood shavings she’d collected scattered into the air and fell to the floor like snow. Annette sneezed.

“Brigid!” a voice called. “You should not be making a mess of the Flamesmith’s home. That is rude.” 

Petra strode into the workshop after her Wind. She was a tall, lean woman, her dark purple hair arranged into a crown of braids that flowed back to a long tail that fell like a waterfall down her back. Her leather vest left her arms exposed, showing off the silvery Windscript tattoos that spiraled from her wrists to her shoulders. She carried a sack slung over her shoulder, the end of a bone protruding from the opening. She brushed her fingers against one of the tattoos and the Wind swept back to her side.

“Our agreed trade,” she said, hefting the sack onto the table and untying the laces to reveal the meat’s leathery, smoked skin. “A leg from a fat deer, cured with ancient methods. Are you having the knife?” 

“Right here.” He went to fetch it from the shelf at the back of the shop.

“I’ve always wanted to meet a flier,” he heard Annette say. “I’ve seen them in the markets sometimes but I didn’t want to just go up to them, you know?”

He turned in time to see Petra grin like a predator. “You do not need to fear us, little Flame-girl. We do not bite unless provoked.”

Brigid whooshed around Annette’s shoulders again. She giggled. 

“We have not been introduced! I am Petra, oathsworn of the Wind Brigid.”

“I’m Annette. Dorothea told me about you!”

Petra raised her eyebrows. “She has? I hope she is saying nice things.”

Annette giggled again and blushed. “Very nice things.” 

Felix wasn’t going to ask what that meant. 

He held out the knife. “Here you are. A hunting knife and a belt sheath.” 

He’d even done a little detailing on the leather. Not too much, because it wasn’t his strong point at all, just a braid design around the edge. If Petra wanted more decoration, she could do it herself. 

She withdrew the shimmering blade and studied it with intense violet eyes, even holding it up so the Wind could brush against its surface. Evidently it met with her approval.

“It is sharp, and sturdy, and pretty as well. Brigid and I will be liking this greatly. You are having our thanks.” 

She spun the blade between her fingers and lunged forward. Annette squeaked in alarm, Felix tensed and reached for his own knife, which he realized too late was still on the table. A moment later it became clear that there was no need. Petra shaved a strip off the leg of meat, revealing the rich reddish interior shot through with streaks of fat. 

“Ha! You are wary,” she laughed. “That is good.”

“Don’t do that!” Felix snapped. 

Petra ignored his outrage. “Citydwellers are so placid. They are not seeing what is in front of their face.” As if to make a point, she shoved a piece of meat at Felix. “Taste,” she ordered.

Grumbling, he snagged the scrap from her hand and put it in his mouth. Well, he couldn’t disapprove of the flavor. Rich, salty, a hint of smoke. Looking at the size of the haunch, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d gotten the better end of this deal.

“It’s good,” he admitted.

Petra cut a piece for Annette, then looked around the workshop, eyes scanning each wall. “The other blade you have been working on. The  _ ridiculous piece of shit _ , you were calling it.”

Annette burst into laughter. “That sounds exactly like you, Felix!”

Petra grinned and continued. “I would like to see it and be judging if your naming of it was correct.” 

Felix shrugged. “Sorry, already handed it over. Gloucester liked it, though, which I think tells you everything you need to know.”

Petra nodded. “I have heard he enjoys items of that sort that are very catching to the eye. He has been making many good tradings with my fellow fliers who collect wares from other lands.”

“Good for him,” Felix grumbled, ready to return to his work. But Annette was still staring at Petra, wonder shining in her eyes.

“I’ve read some books about fliers...”

Petra scoffed. “Those are not often being accurate, if they are not written by us. You should read the works of Lady Lanhiran, if you are wanting truth. But the feeling of flight… it is something one must feel.” She closed her eyes as Brigid curled around her shoulders and nuzzled against her face. “Someday maybe you will be joining me on the  _ Crested Wyvern.”  _

“I would love that!” Annette said, eyes practically glittering.

Felix thought of something. “Hey, I know this is a long shot,” he started, “but since you’ve been outside the city recently, have you seen two pigment merchants with a green cart? They were supposed to be in the market days ago but nobody I’ve talked to has seen them. I’ve known them for years and they’ve never been late before.” There was a first time for everything, and he was certainly used to promises falling through, but this just felt odd. Like there was something greater behind it. 

Petra nodded, thoughtful. “I think I know who you are speaking of! A big cheerful man and a small timid man? With lenses on his eyes.” She gestured unnecessarily with her curled fingers.

That was about as good a description as he could have come up with. “Yes, that’s them.”

“What are you knowing of them? That was a most strange affair. They say they were set upon in the night by masked figures on dark horses.”

“Oh no!” Annette exclaimed. “Are they all right?”

“They are unhurt, yes, but much of their most expensive stock is being missing. They hailed me to be taking a message of warning to their suppliers and fellow merchants.”

That, at least, wasn’t too unusual. In exchange for the promise of free hospitality anywhere they went, cloudship fliers were obligated to carry mail whenever asked, even if it took them well off their planned route. 

“So the bandits knew what they were after,” Felix said. “Most people can’t tell the difference between cheap and expensive paint, let alone mineral salts.”

“And there is being more strangeness,” Petra continued. “A few days ago, Brigid and I flew to the forest for hunting. The gate guards were being extra scrutinous when we returned. They seem to be looking for troublemakers, but they are not knowing what these troublemakers look like. I suspect our thieves and these mysterious figures are being the same.” 

Felix grumbled. “Leonie said the same thing when she came for the trident. She thinks they’ve bribed a guard somewhere along the line.”

It was a distasteful idea. And alarming. If an organized group of criminals had a foothold in the Guard, or even knew someone there who’d look the other way for a price, they could do a tremendous amount of damage.

“The smugglers?” Annette said. “Fla- I mean, someone told me they saw them at a wrestling match.”

What was she talking about? “What were they doing there?”

“Betting,” Petra put in, nodding sagely. “Changing stolen money or false money for fresh coin. And they would be making a profit in the process, if they were making good bets.” 

Annette frowned. “Gambling, counterfeiting… and stealing paint? That’s a bit of a weird collection of things to do. What sort of people do you think they are?”

Felix waved a hand. “Who cares? Bad ones. Let’s just hope the Guard gets their shit together and figures it out soon.”

“I am also hoping for that,” Petra said. She fastened Felix’s knife to her belt. “Brigid and I will be departing at dawn tomorrow.” Another well-known restriction on fliers: they couldn’t direct Winds after nightfall, meaning most were early risers. “I was planning to find an inn for the night if I am not sleeping shipboard, but if Dorothea is having interest…” She smiled. “I believe I am having time to see a show tonight.” 

She thanked Felix again for the knife and walked out the door, Wind gusting behind her. 

“I don’t see why you need to announce that to me,” Felix muttered to himself. 

Annette was looking off into the distance, face screwed up in thought. Something about the way she paused before speaking was enough to warn Felix how ridiculous her next words were going to be. 

“I was thinking I could go investigate,” she said, “you know, see what’s really going on. I heard-”

“No,” Felix said.

“But it sounds like-”

“ _No_ ,” he repeated. “You don’t know what those sorts of people will do if you cross them. Or if you get in their way, or if you’re even sniffing around their territory. It’s too much of a risk.”

“It’s not anything like that!” she insisted. “I can just ask around for some leads.”

“No. Stay out of it.”

The Flame crackled in the forge. Annette stood her ground. 

“Felix, if I can get this story before anyone else, I could put it in the Eagle’s Eye! It’d fix everything.”

“What are you talking about?” Had he missed something, or was she haring off on some twisted logic he couldn’t follow?

“We’re not selling enough, and I don’t think Seteth is ever going to let me join the writing team unless I can come up with something really special, and if we just stand around waiting, more people are going to get robbed! We need to do something.”

Felix almost took a step back at the ferocity in her voice. She reminded him of a Flame in more than just looks.

“It’s not our fight. It’s not worth getting hurt over.”

She glared at him. That look in her eyes was one he’d seen too many times on Ingrid and Dimitri, usually right before they dove right into something foolish. Annette wasn’t going to back down until she got hurt. And maybe not even then. 

He sighed. “At least make sure you have a weapon with you.”

Searching through his collection also gave him an excuse to break away from Annette’s gaze. Unlike his teacher, he didn’t like to keep his failures around. Anything imperfect got discarded or melted down to try again. But there were a few successful pieces he kept because they might be useful later, or they made good examples of his work to show potential clients. 

His Flame continued to roil restlessly, spitting and flaring.

“Is… is it all right?” Annette asked, cautiously approaching the forge.

“What?” Felix glanced up from a drawer of sample pieces. “Yeah, it’s fine. You can give it one of the  _ Steady _ tokens if you want. That’s the one with the-”

“I see it!” 

A few moments later, the Flame settled.

“I think it likes me!” Annette whispered, delighted. 

“Don’t be so sure.” Never mind he was suspecting the same thing himself. 

It took him a while to find something that would fit her hand, but finally he presented her with a dagger with a cord-wrapped handle and a long blade, weighted well enough that even an complete novice wouldn’t have much trouble getting the point where it needed to go.

He pressed it into Annette’s hand and watched her stare at it with wide eyes.

“Are you sure? You really think they’re that bad?”

“We don’t know. So it’s better to be prepared for the worst.” He handed over a scuffed belt sheath. “Try not to cut yourself with it.”

“I’m not that clumsy!” Annette protested. 

“Sure, sure. Let me show you the basics.” He moved behind Annette and put his hands on hers. 

She was so small, and warm. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. But he’d started it, so he had to follow through and finish it. 

“Here, like this.”

He adjusted her hand on the blade, guided her through a few basic moves. He wasn’t sure why he was doing it. It wouldn’t be enough to protect her from a skilled attacker. But it was better than nothing. And maybe it’d drive into her head how foolish it was to get involved in criminal business. Especially just for the sake of a  _ newspaper article _ . 

By the time they were done, she could draw the knife reliably without dropping it, and her form wasn’t  _ quite _ as terrible as it had been an hour prior.

“There, I think that’s a good start. But let’s hope you never have to use it.”

Annette stared at the blade for a long moment before sliding it back into its sheath. “Thanks for the lesson,” she said. Despite the little shake in her voice, Felix could tell she meant it.

There were a few moments of somewhat awkward silence before Felix rubbed his brow and said, “Listen, I don’t have any more time right now, but maybe I’ll see you at the Lion sometime?”

“Yes! That’d be wonderful.”

“Try to stay out of trouble until then, all right?”

“I will! Stop worrying so much.”

As it turned out, his offer might as well have been a prophecy. A few days later, Ashe showed up at his door with a smile and an envelope. 

“What is this?”

“Open it!” Ashe insisted.

With a small huff, Felix tore open the envelope. Inside he found a square of thick, creamy card painted with purple and blue flowers and lovingly inscribed with curling, elegant letters inviting him to the Azure Lion at evening bell at a date a week hence….

“It’ll just be the regulars. We’re going to close for the evening.”

“Is there a special occasion?” 

“You’ll see!” Ashe promised. That wasn’t a great sign. 

“You could have just told me,” Felix said, looking over the top of the card to Ashe’s cheerful face behind it. “You didn’t need to write it down if you were going to deliver it yourself.”

“I know! But Mercedes wanted to make the invitations, and Dedue and I both thought it was a sweet idea, so we did. Bernadetta did the calligraphy.”

“Sure.”

“And don’t worry, we invited Annette too. She gave us the paper.” 

Felix eyed him. What was he assuming? “Why does that involve me?”

Ashe hesitated. “It’s just that you two’ve been hanging out a lot recently, and Mercedes says Annette told her-”

“All right, enough. I’ll come.”

“Great! I can’t stay, I’ve got to go bring one to Sylvain.”

“Good luck finding him.” Sylvain didn’t have many consistent haunts besides the Lion. He was always finding new places to loiter, new people to talk to and probably flirt with. By the time Felix saw him again he’d probably have picked up a new hobby too, some sort of craft or sport he’d drop again a few months later.

Ashe laughed. “Ingrid has a good idea of where he is, so I’ll think I’ll be fine. But thanks!”

After Ashe left, Felix brought the invitation inside. He stood in front of the forge, turning it over in his hands, trying to summon up the will to throw it into the fire. 

The Flame crackled at him. 

He eyed it. “What?”

The crackling changed, became almost a kettle-whistle of heated air.

“Are you trying to  _ sing _ ?” he asked it, disbelieving. “What’s gotten into you? Are you taking after Annette?” 

A few more haphazard notes. Nothing that could be called music by human senses. 

“She helped make this. Do you want it?” Feeling a little absurd, he held it out close enough for the spirit to reach.

The Flame chewed the edge of the paper slowly, almost thoughtfully. Felix watched the tiny red sparks run up and down the blackened corner. Just the corner, and no more. Flakes of ash drifted down to the floor, but the Flame went no further than that before it retreated back to the heart of the forge with another snatch of inhuman song. 

“Huh.” Felix pulled the card from the fire. The lingering embers formed an odd pattern on the charred corner. Almost like the Flamescript character for  _ good _ . 

“Yeah,” he said. “I like her too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Annette Investigates!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette investigates! Featuring guest appearances from Balthus, Linhardt, and Lysithea.

By the time Annette’s lunch break was over, she had two finished paragraphs about the Shield Dragon, and almost a dozen more she’d scratched out for not being good enough. And she’d forgotten to eat the stuffed bun Mercedes had packed for her after they’d finished the invitations. 

It wasn’t a huge deal. Seteth would probably let it slide if she ate while working as long as she kept the crumbs and stains off the accounts. Maybe if she was lucky Flayn would come by with some more treats. Then again, that wouldn’t necessarily be lucky. While the cookies she’d brought last time had probably come from someone on the writing staff, Flayn had started some baking of her own recently. With results that even Annette had to admit were… mixed. She’d bitten into a chunk of charred cookie or a lump of unsifted flour more than once. And the eggshells didn’t even bear mentioning. But when the treats were good, they were really good: sweet, buttery, delicious, cut into adorable flower or animal shapes. 

She pushed that thought away. It was just making her more hungry. She nibbled on the bun as she worked through another set of calculations, wincing as she set yet another middling profit against a debt that all but swallowed it whole. The flavors of soft bread and vegetable curry made it a little more bearable, but not by much. 

Seteth had liked her suggestion of covering lesser-known festivals and independent artists. But he’d stopped short at assigning her to cover any of those stories. And when she’d hinted at looking into that matter troubling incoming merchants…

“Absolutely not,” he’d said, dragon eyes stern. “I refuse to send my people into danger for a few inches of column space. If you wish to interview the Guard on their investigations, very well, but I will warn you I doubt they will be very forthcoming about an ongoing matter.”

That had been the end of it. She hadn’t dared to press him further on the question. 

Maybe he was right, and interviewing the Guard would be the best option. But that would only get her the facts someone knew already, and probably the least interesting or consequential at that. She needed to learn something  _ new.  _ And it wasn’t just for the paper, or her own career. Those thieves who had attacked Felix’s pigment merchants were going to hurt other people if they weren’t stopped. __

The dagger Felix had given her sat heavy at the bottom of her bag, covered by a sweater and a spare notebook. She hadn’t wanted to bring it, but it had seemed too precious to leave at home. And besides, if she uncovered a lead, she needed to be able to jump right into action without delay. 

Maybe she should have asked Felix to give her more lessons. It might not do much to improve her performance in a fight, but it’ll give her another chance to feel that warm, exciting energy that sparked between them as he guided her arms and hips into position…

Oh, how Mercedes had smiled when Annette had told her about that! Annette couldn’t even bring herself to be mad about it. She hadn’t told Mercedes  _ why _ Felix had shown her how to use a knife, only that he had, and she’d enjoyed the lesson. It didn’t seem all that strange a thing for a weaponsmith to do for a curious writer.

She hoped she wouldn’t need to use it, But if she did, she’d make him proud. 

She finished the page of calculations she’d planned to do that day, filled out an order form for more machine oil and set it aside for the courier, and scrubbed all her pens clean for good measure. 

Out on the main floor, Hilda and Caspar were busy putting together the type for a set of advertising flyers. Annette knew better than to interrupt Hilda in the middle of something, so she watched them for a while, waiting for a chance to speak. They worked fast, Hilda’s deft hands plucking the letters from the case and sliding them into place, and Caspar tightening the clamps around each block of text or one of Cyril’s carved images.

“There we go!” Caspar said, twisting the last screw tight. “And we’re ahead of schedule too. Seteth’ll be happy about that.”

Hilda shook her head and studied her smudged hands in disgust. “Ugh, maybe, but was it worth getting grease on my hands? Ick.” As if that had ever really stopped her.

“Don’t worry, you can just wash it off!” Caspar told her, refusing to lose his cheer. 

“Hmm, I don’t know, I might need some help with that,” she said, a knowing smile growing on her face. “There might even be some in other places too…”

They would’ve kept going too if Annette hadn’t interrupted. 

“Hey, Caspar!” she called.

He waved. “Annette! What’s up?”

“I heard you’re doing really well with the wrestling matches. Didn’t you win last time?”

He grinned. “Yeah! I’ve won a few so far. And lost a bunch too, but that’s just part of the game. I’ve been doing it for a few months now. It’s been a lot of fun. The guys are fun to hang out with too. And they’re not all guys, there’s some women and thirds in there too! I keep telling Hilda she should go for a match! She could take them on for sure.”

Hilda shook her head, but she was smiling. “Oh no, I’m much too delicate for that. I’d rather watch you take them down without getting sweaty myself.” 

Annette didn’t doubt that Caspar was right. Or that Hilda would need a little more convincing to enter a match. Or that she would probably win.

“That’s what I wanted to ask about. I’ve heard some things about the wrestlers…” Should she tell him what Flayn had said? No, that would be too direct. “...uh, about them cheating. Do you know anything about that?” She added a smile for good measure, knowing it probably wouldn’t help.

Caspar’s face fell. “What? No!” he said. “They wouldn’t do something like that, cause that wouldn’t be fair! I know the fights look all rough and tumble and stuff, but there are rules, and if you break them you’ll get thrown out.” He shook his head. “That stuff you’re talking about is the stuff good people are supposed to fight against!” 

Hilda came to his side, still scrubbing at her nails with a cloth. “It’s probably some sore losers spreading gossip.”

Annette hesitated. Hilda could be right. And she shouldn’t be lying to Caspar. He’d be able to figure out what she was after. He was always really good at telling when his friends were unhappy or hiding something. And now she was hiding something big… 

“If you wanna see how it’s done,” Caspar said, “I can take you down to the training ground after work if you want! It’s really fun to watch.”

Hilda laughed. “Trust me, you’re going to enjoy the sight.” She squeezed Caspar’s arm.

When Annette looked back to Caspar, he was blushing. Well now, that was interesting.

“Sure!” Maybe she’d find some clues. And even if she didn’t, it would probably be fun.

Hilda looked ready to run out the door with him that very moment, but Caspar had something in mind first.

“Hey, Annette, grab me some paper,” he called. “I wanna make sure this is aligned before we go! Then when we come in tomorrow, we can just pump out all the flyers and be done super early.”

“Ooh,” Hilda commented, grinning. “Now you’ve got the right idea.”

It didn’t take long. Hilda and Caspar had done good work, and the press only needed a few rounds of adjustments before the prints came back crisp and clean. But it wasn’t enough to stop Hilda teasing Caspar over the early days when he’d kept putting the letters in backwards.

“Come on, Hilda, everyone does that when they’re starting out! You gotta get some practice in before you can do it right every time!”

They continued in that vein, trading compliments and nudges, for most of the walk to the training grounds. Annette couldn’t help but feel a little left out, even if it was a lot more fun to listen to than Hilda and Dorothea’s barbs. 

Annette could tell they were close long before she saw the fighters. Noise and laughter rang out from the plaza: battle cries, jeers, encouraging shouts, whoops of victory. They’d drawn rings onto the grey stone with chalk, three small ones in white and a larger one in red.

Two of the smaller rings were hosting one-on-one matches, four combatants busy with the rest crowded around to watch. Most were human, but there were a few Kejan too, their bare-footed claws tapping on the stone as they fought. A shaggy Forish watched from the sidelines. Annette wondered if they were a tourist, because their fur and robe and the rings on their horns were far too tidy to have come out of a match. 

This sport was more popular than she’d thought. Maybe she could report on it once Seteth let her into the writing team. If she didn’t accidentally get crushed by one of the competitors, that was. She backed carefully out of range of the swinging fists. Hilda didn’t miss her wariness and gave her a little smirk.

A little away from the group, by the unused ring, stood a towering statue of a man with a stormy dark mane of hair. His ragged long coat and tight pants hid absolutely nothing.

Off to the side, a woman sat on a stool under the shade of a balcony, watching the fighters in the ring. Her pale face was sharp and elegant, her golden curls tied back with purple ribbons. She held a paintbrush in one hand like a magic wand and a lacy parasol in the other, which she held over her head despite the shade. Annette couldn’t see her canvas from where she was standing, but a notebook sat open on the coat puddled at her feet, and a glimpse at that made her interest in the scene clear. 

Caspar waved to them. “Hey guys! I brought a friend.”

“Caspar!” the large man called. “You’re here early today! Itching for a fight? And you’ve brought the pretty lady too.” He smiled towards Hilda. “And someone new!” 

Annette waved. “Hi! I’m Annette. I’m from the Eagle’s Eye too.”

The man bowed theatrically. “Welcome! So, you looking for a show from the King of Grappling?” He flexed his arm. “Usually you’d hafta wait for competition night, but I might be willing to make an exception for a pretty girl.”

The woman in the shade laughed, a high, delighted sound. She spun her parasol in her fingers. “Take care, Balthus. You may well tempt me into painting another portrait of you!”

“Ha!” Balthus barked. “You have the right idea, Constance! These muscles deserve the honor of being preserved on canvas!” He turned to Caspar. “So whadd’ya say, ready for a challenge?”

“You know it!”

Caspar shed his coat and charged forward, fists raised.

Hilda took Annette’s arm and led her over to Constance’s corner. “This is the place to watch,” she said. “Reserved for the best, of course.” 

The two of them took seats on the stone ledge bordering the plaza. Constance raised a cheer, Caspar and Balthus both shot grins and winks towards their audience, and the match began. 

Caspar was right. The matches, even practice ones, were a lot of fun to watch, especially with an audience of friends. Though she suspected that Constance’s breathless commentary could turn even the most mundane things into grand, exciting tales. Annette even thought about asking her to join the Eagle’s Eye, but by the time Constance paused for long enough for Annette to say anything, she’d forgotten.

She cast her eyes to the other fights, strained to hear the fighters’ chatter. There was nothing devious here that she could find. Even needlessly-rough takedowns were resolved with a laugh and an offered hand. 

Clearly Balthus was the star of the group. A pile of coins gathered at his feet, most from little bets between the competitors, with a scattering of tips from adoring fans on top of that.

Finally she couldn’t justify staying any longer. She gathered up her bag, survived Constance’s extensive farewells, and headed towards the northwest ramp.

“Thanks for inviting me,” she called back. “It was really good!”

“Here ya go, kid,” Balthus flicked a coin towards Annette. It clattered to the floor, spinning in a tight circle before she picked it up. “Keep it for good luck. Looks like ya need it.” 

“Really?” She slipped it into a pocket.

Balthus grinned. “Anything for a friend of Caspar’s!”

“You should come and watch next time!” Caspar said. “I’m gonna stick around and get some training in. I hope you had fun! The guys really aren’t that scary when you get to know them.”

He was probably right. Which was for the best, but it left Annette’s investigation back where she’d started. She worried the coin between her fingers for the whole walk to the Azure Lion. The thrill of watching the wrestlers training faded fast. It was too early for dinner, but Mercedes had told her she was welcome anytime, and she wanted someone to talk to. Maybe with enough talk she could figure out what to do next.

Mercedes and Felix were right. She shouldn’t be getting involved in this where there was barely any evidence to go on and lots of other stories ripe for the telling. 

She wandered into the nearly-empty dining room, gathering enough energy to give Dedue a small wave before she dropped into a chair and sighed. 

“I wasted my time,” she groaned. “And now Caspar probably thinks I think his friends are cheaters…”

She hadn’t seen any trace of anything illegal at all. Unless Constance had been painting with the supplies the masked men had stolen from Felix’s friends, but even Annette knew that was a long shot. Even the tray of little butter cakes Dedue put in front of her couldn’t make her feel better. Well, until she tried one, and bit into the sugary crunch of the toffee fragments scattered through the soft cake. Then she had to smile. 

“It wasn’t a waste of time if you had fun, dear,” Mercie reassured her. 

“I guess.” Annette reached for another cake. “Thanks for these, Dedue.” Dedue didn’t reply. He was watching her hands intently. “What is it? Did I get crumbs on something?” She checked her dress for stains, but there was nothing.

Dedue shook his head. “It is the coin. May I see it?”

Annette handed it to him. “Balthus said it was lucky.”

Dedue turned the coin over and frowned. “Not at all. It is a fake.”

Ashe looked up from the bar. “Oh no, another one?” Dedue nodded. “That’s the fourth we’ve seen this month.”

Annette stared at it, trying to find something wrong. “What do you mean? How do you know?”

“They’ve all got the same year on them, and as soon as you handle them for too long, they start tarnishing.”

Mercedes nodded. “It’s terrible. Thinking of all those people being cheated, and then when they try to pay for a meal, they find out it’s fake.”

Annette frowned “Did you tell the Guard?”

Mercedes shook her head. “It’s not worth it for a few coins. Ingrid says they’re so busy already.”

That didn’t seem fair. Surely this was important too? “There’s got to be somebody who knows something,” Annette sighed, eyeing the coin as if she could uncover its mysteries through pure intimidation. 

Mercedes gave a thoughtful hum. “You should visit the research tower in the eastern district. Marianne’s partner works there. He’s called Linhardt. She’s told me all about him. He studies things like this, so he should be able to help. Or he might know someone who can.” 

“Yes!” Annette exclaimed. “Thank you, Mercie!” 

She was back on track.

* * *

The next day found her at the desk of the Head Librarian of the research institute, a man with a greying mustache and an old-fashioned monocle. The sign on his desk said he was Doctor Hanneman.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” he said to her questions, “it won’t be too hard to find him. Long green hair, probably napping, unfortunately. He is one of our greatest assets, and yet, it is quite a shame…” Hanneman shook his head in despair. “He leaps from topic to topic according to his interests, and while he produces some groundbreaking papers in this way, he rarely works closely with others, which can make it rather difficult to continue his work when he moves on from it…”

“Uh…” Annette wasn’t sure if she should interrupt him. “I just want to talk to him. Can you tell me where his lab is?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Up one level, it’s the second door on the left side of the library, if you have eyes you’ll find it. I wish you luck with whatever it is you are studying.” 

He went back to his writing without another word, leaving Annette to make her way to the back of the hall and past a display case full of some truly disturbing-looking animal skeletons. Or at least she hoped they were animals, and not some sort of undead monsters. With the way the bleached bones leered at her, she’d hardly be surprised.

She shivered and continued up the tight staircase. Halfway up, she was nearly bowled over by a student hurrying the other way. Fortunately, that was the only trouble she encountered before finding the door she was looking for.

The sights of Linhardt’s research lab were no less mystifying than the displays in the entrance hall. There was a vast array of books spread open on a back table, equations and graphs waiting for eyes. Behind that sat a long shelf of metal instruments, each a finely crafted ornament of metal bands and sharp points and winking lenses. 

True to Hanneman’s promise that Linhardt never spent too much time on any one topic, his tools didn’t seem to stick to one either. Those ashy tongs looked like a miniature version of the tools Felix worked with. That system of colored lenses was clearly meant for working with light. And on a lower shelf Annette could see leaves soaking in bowls of dark liquids.

It took her a moment to find the room’s resident. He was lounging over two chairs with a book covering his face. He’d made no sign of noticing her come in.

“You’re Linhardt?” Annette began, quietly, not sure if should disturb him or not.

The man lifted the book and yawned. Had he been reading or asleep? Annette wasn’t going to ask. 

“Oh. Hello.” He pulled himself into a sitting position. “Yes, that’s me. Do you need something? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

Annette pulled out the coin and explained.

“Hmm, I have some experience in that area, yes. Let me give that a closer look.”

Before Annette could move, Linhardt plucked the coin out of her hand. “They did a good job. At a first glance, I wouldn’t have seen that there was anything amiss.”

He rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a lens and a small tool. He studied the coin, turning it over in his fingers, scratching and scraping at it with the tip of the chisel. 

“Most counterfeits don’t have the face pressed nearly so well. This is fascinating. I wonder what sort of die they’re using…” He went on muttering until Annette wasn’t sure if he meant for her to listen or not.

“So…” She drummed her fingers on his desk. “Do you have any idea who made it or where they’re doing it?”

“What?” He shook his head. “Oh, no, that would take a lot more research to figure out.”

“Is that going to take a long time?”

“Potentially yes. But if we can determine the metal composition of the piece or filter out some impurities and identify them, that might give us a vague idea of what we’re working with. Knowing what sort of processes and machinery were involved will narrow any search considerably.”

Now that looked like a good lead. 

“Can you do that?” she asked.

“No.”

“Oh.” Where was she supposed to go now?

“But one of my colleagues might be able to, if she’s willing.” Linhardt pushed his chair back and stood up. “Come this way.” 

He didn’t give her a chance to answer before he strode off down the hall. Annette hurried after him, nearly losing him more than once in the forest of shelves that was the research library. It didn’t help that she was so distracted looking up at the massive bookcases and the glass cabinets full of artifacts that she almost walked into another scholar. 

“Hey! Watch it!” The complaint came from a woman with her dark red hair tied up in a green scarf. 

“Sorry!”

Linhardt sighed. “Annette, this is Hapi, one of my colleagues here. She studies prehistoric animals.”

“Yup, that’s my thing. What’cha got there, Lin?”

“Counterfeit coin. And a very well-made one at that. Annette here brought it in.”

Hapi’s eyebrow went up. “Oh? Can I take a look?”

Linhardt handed it over. Hapi peered at it, an odd look coming into her face as she ran her fingers over the edge. “Interesting.”

A flicker of hope rose in Annette’s chest. “Can you help us figure out where it came from?”

Hapi shrugged. “Nope, sorry, not my speciality. You should ask Lysithea.”

“We’re on our way to her lab right now,” Linhardt said.

“Good. So you don’t need me for that.”

“Not right now, now. But I’m taking Marianne fishing next week, do you want to come?”

Hapi wrinkled her nose. “No way. I’ve got better things to do than sit around next to a pond all day. Besides,” she added, “it sounds like the sort of thing that’s supposed to be just you two.”

“Ah, you’re probably right.”

“Anyway, I’ve got work to do. Hope you have good luck with your coin.” She tossed it back to Linhardt, who caught it easily. 

He led Annette down a tight, sloping corridor to a room with a strange sort of roof: thick cloth instead of stone or wood, sliced here and there with vents. Like Linhardt’s office, there were bookshelves set into the walls, and racks and tables stacked with equipment filled every available space. It looked like it had been built for a group of people to work all at once, but right now there was only one. 

Behind a table covered in bubbling bottles and jars and notebooks sat a small, elegant young woman with sharp eyes and a haughty air about her.

She must have known they were there, but she utterly ignored them as Linhardt walked up to her. 

“Lysithea, I’ve brought someone in need of your particular sort of analysis.” 

Finally, she looked up. “Oh? I might be interested, if you can make it worth my time.”

Linhardt set the coin on the table and explained what Annette had told him.

“Hmm. I see.” She stood up, and, giving no explanation about what she was doing, fetched a bundle of tools and bottles from a shelf. She uncorked a thick glass bottle and poured a measure of clear liquid into a shallow dish.

“Stay back, this stuff can burn through your clothes if you’re not careful.” She eyed Annette with more than a little accusation. “And from what I just saw, you’re not.”

Annette glared, but Lysithea had already turned back to her work.

Using a pair of tweezers, she slowly lowered the coin into the liquid. A harsh fizzing sound erupted from the dish. When it subsided and Lysithea pulled the coin out again, the surface was dark and pitted.

She hummed. “Cheap, but effective.” 

Linhardt nodded. “If they replace just part of their payments with these, they would make a tidy profit.”

“And by the time the mark - or whatever poor sod they traded with next - notices anything wrong with the money, the counterfeiter is long gone. Very clever.”

Annette peered at the tray of solvent, which was still fizzing ever so slightly. “Could the merchants test with that? Dedue said they’ve had a few fake coins recently.”

Lysithea sniffed. “I see you don’t know much about this process. Real gold and silver will also be damaged, rendering any coin worthless. They’ll simply leave a smooth surface behind, not like this mess. And it’s far too dangerous for untrained people. So the answer is no.”

She didn’t have to be so rude about it. “So do we know anything about who made them or where?” As much as Annette loved learning and research, it was frustrating to be this clueless about a topic. Usually she was the one with the answers, or she at least knew where to find them on her own.

“This formulation is rare in this region around the city,” Linhardt told her. “It wouldn’t be worth gathering it for making counterfeits. But if you go some way to the south, it’s more plentiful, and therefore cheaper.”

So they were from further south. Or bought their supplies from there. That… actually didn’t tell her much.

Linhardt tapped his lip with his pen. “Hmm. I have a few contacts in that region. I can write to them and ask if they’ve seen any signs of this.”

“That’s great! Thank you so much.” Annette wrote her address on a scrap of paper so that Linhardt could forward any leads to her. 

“Good,” Lysithea said, with less enthusiasm. “Now can you two go away and let me work? Come back if you find anything you need me for.” 

Annette headed home satisfied, humming in delight. So far, this investigation was a success after all. She’d be writing her article in no time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: A party at the Azure Lion, featuring Dimitri and Byleth


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A party! And some drama...

The day of the party, Annette begged off of work early so she could help Dedue and his family set up. Seteth, who she was coming to learn was never quite as stern as he looked, allowed it, even before Annette promised him she’d come in early next week. He did give her a suspicious look as she left, which made her all the more aware of the bundle of notes folded at the bottom of her bag, next to Felix’s dagger and the report on the Shield Dragon that she was  _ almost  _ finished with. It just needed a few more quotes from the smith himself. Which she might be able to get tonight. 

She got to the Azure Lion just as Dedue was closing up for the day. There were a few grumbles from the patrons still lingering over afternoon tea, but Mercedes reminded them it was only once in a very long while and they’d be open their usual hours tomorrow, so unless anyone wanted to stay and help in the kitchen, there really wasn’t any reason to complain, was there?

The offer, apparently, did not include Annette. Dedue very firmly shooed her out of the kitchen before she’d even picked up a spoon and assigned her to laying out tablecloths with Mercedes. It was probably for the best. Annette’s cooking skills were almost as bad as Flayn’s, but she’d usually managed to avoid disaster when helping her mother in the kitchen. Another thing she might not have learned if her father hadn’t vanished that terrible day...

She didn’t have time to think on it. There was more work to be done. Bernadetta brought in bundles of flowers and herbs from the garden and arranged them into pretty displays on the tables. Under Mercedes’s careful supervision, Bernadetta and Annette climbed up on chairs to hang beautiful blue banners embroidered with dancing lions and shining stars.

And then came the food! Ashe pulled a few of the tables together so they could set it all out at once for the partygoers to choose from as they wished. Dedue set out platter after platter of delicious-smelling treats, sweet and savory. Roasted chicken wings with sauce-blackened edges, cups of thick, spicy soups, all sorts of roasted and fried vegetables, cold noodles in herb sauce, sliced roasts, stuffed buns, bowls of fruit topped with cream, little palm-sized pies with patterned crusts that must have taken ages to prepare. From the way Ashe and Dedue were looking at each other, Annette suspected there were even more surprises to come. 

Bernadetta added the final touch with her own creation: cookies cut in the shape of lions, waves of colored sugar marking their rainbow manes with sweet fur. Annette couldn’t resist grabbing one from the plate and nibbling around the edges, sighing in delight at the taste. Bernie’s little smile at the praise made Annette want to eat the entire plate, but she managed to restrain herself enough to wait a few moments before taking a second.

Ashe passed out glasses of chilled fruit tea, and the four of them settled into the best of the Lion’s cozy chairs to wait for the others. 

Sylvain was the first to arrive, early enough that Annette could almost imagine he’d been lurking outside the door as they prepared. It sounded like something he would do, anyway.

“Hey, Annette! How are you doing? Felix keeping you busy?”

She’d known he’d come in with some sort of clever quip, but she hadn’t been ready for that one. 

“Yeah! I’m writing a lot about him!” Why was she blushing? Probably just in expectation of the innuendo she  _ knew _ Sylvain would make if given enough time.

Sylvain hummed. “That’s a tough job. He’s almost as prickly as that spirit of his. You better be careful.”

Annette giggled. “It did bite me once… but that’s because I was being careless! Felix has been really nice. He made me dinner when it was raining.”

“Oh, that’s really sweet of him!” Ashe said. “Hold on, I’ll get the drinks.”

“Felix, sweet?” Sylvain said. “You sure you got the right man?”

Annette glared at him, but she couldn’t bring herself to be mad at Ashe for it.

Because he was right, Felix was sweet, but not really in a way that was obvious. He was sharp like a sword and grumpy like a Flame, but it was because he had such high standards for everyone, including himself. She could tell that just from looking at his creations, seeing the time he took over them. His blades could protect the whole city from anything, even monsters! 

Sylvain accepted a glass of wine from Ashe and picked up one of the pies, nodding approvingly at the feast spread out before him. 

“All for me? This looks delicious, you really outdid yourself.”

Dedue gave him a look. “I appreciate the praise, Sylvain, but it will not bring the dessert out any faster.”

He lounged back in his chair, one leg slung over the armrest. “Aw, you think that’s the only thing I’m after?”

“It’s most of it, at least!” Annette giggled. She had a chance to be very glad Dedue and Ashe hadn’t told her what their dessert plans were, because she was sure she’d spill the secret before everyone had even arrived. 

Sylvain gave a mournful sigh and nodded towards the door. “Look, here comes Ingrid. She can vouch for my honesty. It’s one of my best skills, after all.”

Ingrid pulled off her green Guard jacket and cap and handed them over to Ashe. “Not a chance. I’ll vouch for your skill at kissing, and your skill at annoying me, but nothing else.”

Sylvain tilted his head. “Want to make good on that first one?”

She leaned over to do just that. And when they finally broke away, hurried to the table to pile her plate high with roast meat, peppered potatoes, and fried buns, dipping sauce drizzled over the top. She finished it off with a cup of soup nestled in the middle and brought the whole affair to a chair across from Sylvain. 

“The food’s not going anywhere!” Ashe laughed. “You can take your time.”

“I want to try everything when it’s fresh!” Ingrid said, her mouth already full.

“That’ll keep you busy for a while,” Sylvain said. “I’m going to have to find someone else to talk to.” He smiled at Bernadetta, who’d nearly hidden herself away in a huge armchair with a small plate of food. “Bernie! I almost couldn’t see you there.” Bernie waved at him. “Do you have any new stories? I really liked that last one.”

She peeked out from her nest like a bear cub in a cave. “Oh- uh, there’s one. But it’s not done yet!”

“I’ll be looking forward to it, then. Your stuff’s amazing, Bernie, don’t forget that.”

And that was honest, not teasing. Maybe he had a point about his skills after all. But after the way he talked about Felix, Annette wasn’t going to give him anything.

Besides, Bernadetta had offered something far more interesting. 

“You write stories?” Annette asked.

Bernie smiled, just a little. “Yeah! I- They’re nothing important. Just adventures and romance and stuff.”

“That sounds fun! My newspaper publishes things like that sometimes. I can talk to the editors if you want to submit something!”

“Oh no, um, maybe?” She looked frightened and excited all at once. “That’d be really nice.”

“Yeah! I’ll ask about it.”

Hopefully she remembered! She really wanted to see some of Bernie’s work. And the  _ Eagle’s Eye  _ could always use more writers. Hopefully someday that’d be her. But she couldn’t exactly publish her silly fun songs, and she was no good at telling made-up stories. She hadn’t done it since she was a kid, and back then she always got bored partway through and decided something ridiculous should happen, like a monster invasion or the hero magically turning into a cat.

By comparison to some of those fantastical tales, today was very plain, even with the party. And where was Felix? The room felt oddly empty without him. Maybe he’d decided not to come.

Her worry didn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” Mercie said, passing Annette a cup of sweet berry wine.

She was right. A few minutes later, just as Annette was biting the head off her third lion cookie, a familiar figure pushed his way through the door, keeping his head down as if that’d stop people recognizing him.

“Felix!” She jumped up and ran to him, only to pause awkwardly a few steps away. 

He gave her a puzzled look. “What’s all the fuss? I just saw you a few days ago. Did something happen?”

“No!” she insisted, knowing exactly what he was afraid of. “Well, sort of, but it wasn’t bad!”

“You’re going to have to explain that a bit more, you know.”

“I can do that!”

“Sure. Let me get a plate first, I’m hungry.”

Annette took the chance to refill her own plate. A few buns, a tangle of noodles, some soup. And another ladle of wine to refresh her almost-empty cup. 

Sylvain was still staring at them, eyes full of mischief and stolen secrets.

Felix glared. “What are you looking at?”

“Took you a while to get here. Were you trying to be fashionably late?” Sylvain teased, raising his glass. “You almost got it right. Your girlfriend here was about to send out a search party.”

Annette blushed. “I wasn’t that worried!”

“Shut up, I had work to do,” Felix grumbled. “Had this idiot come by asking for a jagged sword.” 

Ashe’s eyes widened. “Like the demon-hunter knight from the Legends of the Blue Isle?” 

“Yeah, exactly.” Felix took a seat near the hearth. “They even wanted the runes. I tried to explain that it wouldn’t fit in a scabbard, but of course they didn’t listen.”

Sylvain reached for another egg bun. “Was it the same one who wanted the filigree trident?”

Felix snorted. “No. Gloucester at least knows the difference between decorative nonsense and actual weapons, even if his taste is shit. This fool only knew what they’d read in cheap novels and those ridiculous hero-plays.”

“Aw, hero-plays are fun!” Ingrid protested. “You just have to accept that it’s not going to make logical sense and let yourself enjoy the spectacle.” 

“Try telling my customer that.” Felix bit into a chicken wing with more force than necessary. “Huh. These are good. You should have them on the usual menu.”

Sylvain rolled his eyes. “As if you’re here often enough to know what’s on the usual menu.”

Felix glared at him. “Well, I’m sorry that I have a job that forces me to deal with ridiculous people and misbehaving spirits…”

“Ha!” Ingrid laughed out loud. “You try being on the City Guard. You haven’t seen some of the louts I have to deal with. Just today, I had to deal with this tourist...” 

She launched into a story, pausing only to answer Ashe’s breathless questions and deflect Sylvain’s teasing, admiring, flirtatious remarks. Meanwhile, Dedue, Bernadetta, and Mercedes went off to another set of chairs to trade crafting advice. Which gave Annette just the opportunity she needed.

“Felix! How have you been?” She dropped into a seat next to him, barely avoiding spilling sauce on her dress when the motion jostled her plate. Felix passed her a napkin to mop up the drips gathering on the edge before they fell.

“Fine. Business as usual.” He nodded to her cup. “Be careful with that, it’s strong.”

“I can handle it!” she insisted, and took a gulp just to prove it. 

Felix narrowed his eyes at her. “So?” he asked.

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been up to something. And you clearly want to talk about it. So go ahead and tell me before you explode.”

Annette pouted. Was she really that obvious? Mercedes would probably agree. It didn’t matter right now. She had good food, she had friends, she had Felix here and he was going to listen to her, and that made her so warm and happy she felt like she was standing next to Felix’s Flame. 

So, in between bites, she explained where she’d been. Felix had to push her once or twice when she got caught up in the little details of the wrestling training or describing the bizarre things on display at the research tower. But eventually she got the whole story out.

“And I didn’t even have to fight anybody!” she finished.

Felix nodded, thoughtful. “Good work,” he said. “Didn’t think you had it in you. Guess you’re better at investigating than I thought.”

She was ready to get mad at him, she really was, but then she caught the look in his eyes. Honest praise, not doubt or teasing or his usual disdain. 

“Thanks!” She giggled, face growing warm. 

Felix’s face crinkled in thought. That was so adorable. Annette wanted to look at it all night.

“But that all happened very fast,” he said. “Why would they just give you one of the counterfeit-”

He didn’t get to finish, because the door opened again. Who could it be? Someone who didn’t realize the Lion was closed?

Ashe stood up. “Governor Dimitri! Byleth!” he called. “Welcome!”

Annette would have recognized the two who entered even without Ashe’s delighted greeting. The Governor of Tilsa was a tall, strong man, shaggy blond hair tied back in a way that somehow still left most of it draped over his face, almost hiding the one eye covered in a black patch. The person beside him, in a skirt and long coat and with their dark bluish hair cut ragged at their shoulders, could only be his spouse Byleth. Annette had read about them in the sorts of gossip papers that Seteth shunned but Hilda and Dorothea passed around anyway.

Dimitri smiled. “Ashe! I’ve told you there’s no need for formality.”

Ashe hurried over to take his coat, which he was already wearing half around his shoulders because it was probably a little too warm for it. Dimitri surprised him by pulling him into a hug.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to see you recently. There’s been so much work…”

Dedue came up beside him. “We understand. We are glad to have you.”

“And the same to you,” Dimitri said, embracing him too. Mercedes was next, a warm smile spreading across her face.

Annette couldn’t look away. The governor of the entire city, here? And the way the others greeted him, they must be old friends. How much was there about Felix that she didn’t know?

Byleth gave Dedue and company their own round of hugs, waved towards the others, and headed right for the feast table to gather up a plate almost as full as Ingrid’s. Looking at them now, at the ease in their movements and the watchful gleam in their eyes, Annette was certain at least some of the rumors were true. At least the ones that didn’t involve supernatural powers. 

They came from a foreign land, raised by traveling fighters. They had the blessing of a dragonfolk god. They’d once come upon a burned village and tracked down the bandits responsible to kill them all...

Annette was so busy watching Byleth that she didn’t notice the governor come up to her.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.”

She jumped. “Governor! I’m Annette! I’m Fel- uh, Mercedes’s friend!” She glanced at Felix to see if he’d heard her slip, but he was busy arguing with Sylvain and Ingrid. Somehow this wasn’t as reassuring as it should have been.

The governor stepped back. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, it’s all right! I’m happy to meet you!” 

“And you can call me Dimitri,” he said, with an elegant half-bow. “I’m glad to see Felix spending some time outside his forge. I assume you had something to do with that?”

Annette blushed. 

Byleth snorted gently. “As if you’re not guilty of spending all your time in your office or the council chamber, my love.” 

Dedue frowned. “You must take more time for yourself, Dimitri,” he said. “You are worth far more than paperwork and laws.”

“Wise as always, Dedue. I suppose I will disappoint you by saying that I  _ do _ have one item of official business to deliver…” A smile spread across his face. He cleared his throat and continued, looking out to the entire room, “I hereby invite all of you to join us for a dance next month at the governor’s tower.”

Cheers rose from the group. A dance! That’d be so much fun. Annette had a few moments of delight before she realized that of course the Governor wouldn’t be inviting  _ her _ when they’d just met less than a minute ago. Her face fell. 

Byleth looked at her. “You’re included, Annette. If you want to come, that is.”

Delight flooded through her. “Yes! I mean, thank you!” 

Dimitri laughed, a deep chuckle. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you all.”

Sylvain grinned. “Now come and enjoy yourself,” he said. He unfolded himself from his seat and went to drag Dimitri towards the food. 

Ashe clearly agreed. “We made cheese casserole for you!” 

Annette went back to her seat, flushed with excitement. But Felix didn’t look the same. He was watching Dimitri with a strange look in his eyes. Not disapproving, but something not entirely happy either. 

And she’d forgotten what they’d been talking about. But that didn’t matter when there were so many other wonderful things going on.

“Are you going to go to the dance?” she asked.

“Maybe. Probably not,” Felix said. “Not really my thing.”

Her heart sank. “But dancing is a lot of fun! And there’ll be music too, and food, and people to talk to…”

“I don’t need that.”

The governor came up from behind Annette’s chair. “I would be honored if you would make an appearance, my friend,” he said.

“I’ll think about it,” Felix grumbled. 

Dimitri took a seat. “Annette, I hear you’ve been visiting Felix,” he said. “He doesn’t let many people do that. His work is magnificent. I’m not surprised he has so many customers clamoring for a piece.”

Felix shook his head. “Don’t flatter me. I know I’m good.”

Annette agreed. “It’s amazing.” She pulled the dagger from her bag. “He gave me this!” 

Sylvain and Dimitri exchanged a knowing look. What was that about? 

Felix sniffed. “Don’t get any ideas, it’s just for practical uses. She needs to know how to defend herself.” 

“Is accounting that dangerous?” Dimitri asked, with a gleam in his eye. 

Byleth, who’d somehow appeared out of nowhere, tilted their head. “Depends who’s on the other end of the bill.”

Before Annette could ponder that ominous statement, Ingrid came over with something else to say, and everyone else joined in too.

They were all talking so fast that as soon as Annette figured out what to say, they’d moved on to the next thing. Dedue brought out more food and more wine. Annette took another cup without really thinking about it.

And then, at last, the promised dessert. Dedue emerges from the kitchen with a tray of adorable little tarts, each decorated with a different design. Felix’s was an orange Flame, Annette’s was a pen and ink, Byleth’s was a sword, and so on. They must have put so much thought into that. They’d even been made with the flavors each person liked. Felix’s had plain cream with spicy pepper on it, and Annette’s had an extra drizzle of honey.

And they were as delicious as they looked. Two bites in, Annette started humming without really thinking about it, her thoughts on the dessert falling into a song. 

“Sweet crunchy crust on a sweet creamy tart, little bits of berry and a sweet honey touch…”

“That sounds really good,” Felix said. “The music, I mean. Not the tart.”

Oh no, was she singing out loud? She blushed. 

“Don’t listen to that!” she exclaimed uselessly. 

“Too late, I’ve already heard it. You can keep going if you want.”

Off to the side, Mercedes giggled. Annette laughed and ate the rest of her tart without singing about it. Felix looked a little disappointed at that. 

By the time the party started winding down, she was almost asleep in her chair, adrift on that floaty warm feeling from all the wine. 

Felix gently shook her shoulder.

“Let me take you home. You’re clearly not going to make it on your own.”

Annette can’t really argue with him on that, and she doesn’t want to. She begged him to stay long enough for her to give everyone farewell hugs, including the Governor and Byleth, and then she let him guide her out the door with a hand on her arm. 

“We should do this again,” she said. “It was really nice.”

Felix made a noise that wasn’t totally negative. “Maybe. Less people next time, though.”

“Just you and me?”

“I could agree to that.”

Annette silently cheered her victory.

When, far too soon, they reached the curling ramp up to her street, she was all but leaning on Felix’s shoulder. His work at the forge had made him strong. She liked that.

“Here,” she said, pointing. “Mine is right here.”

“Right.” 

Felix steered her towards the entrance, where she found a note pinned to her door. 

“There’s a note,” she groaned. Her head was too fuzzy to untangle one of her landlord’s rambling messages. “Why is there a note?” She tugged it off and unfolded it. 

_ Cease your snooping. If you continue, we have the means to make you regret it. _

No signature. Not even a cryptic symbol. Just the words. She shivered, staring at the paper, trying and failing to make the words make sense in a way that wasn’t way too scary to deal with right now. 

Felix pulled the note from her hand, read it, and crumpled it in his fist with a rumblr of anger. 

“What the hell…” he muttered. “Bastards.” 

Annette shook her head and reached for her key. “I… I guess I should go to bed…” 

She was painfully aware now that she’d had too much wine to think clearly. The delight of the party, of the market, of Felix, it was all fading away now, replaced by a chill that left her shivering.

Felix reached for her hand. “No. You’re not staying here tonight. Not after someone’s threatened you.”

“But I want to go to bed. What am I supposed to do?”

Felix took a breath and let it out in a sigh. “Come back to the forge,” he said. “You can sleep there. Then we can call the Guard. I’ll ask Ingrid to assign you someone to protect you tomorrow.”

Was it really that bad? She was almost home, and she wanted to sleep. But the Shield Dragon would be warm, and she’d get to talk to Felix more… 

She nodded. “All right. Let’s go there.”

“Good. Follow me.” 

Felix held her close for the entire walk, even when there was nobody around and nothing to see but the lanterns lining the pathways. 

The Flame crackled in the forge as they entered Felix’s workshop. Annette waved to it, hoping it knew she liked it. Felix guided her to the back of the room and up a narrow ladder. The upper room was fairly sparse, decorated with a bed and a table and a few shelves, all neatly organized. 

“You can sleep here,” he said. “I’ll be downstairs. Uh, you can yell if you need me.”

“Mhmm…” Annette sank into the bed and closed her eyes. It smelled like Felix, like metal and smoke. Comforting, somehow. 

For a moment, she thought she felt Felix’s hand brushing gently through her hair, but she fell asleep before she was certain.


End file.
